A MESSAGE FROM HOME

We pulled into my parking space by the house.The lights were on in many of the rooms of the first and second floor whuch are occupied by the monkey boy family that's putting up with me (did I say that right?). It was hard to tell if anyone was up though, as they often left the lights on through the night.
"I don't think you shoukd come in with me, " I informed Marchell as we vacated my car."I don't think my landlord would approve of guests, especially this late."
"Don't be silly," she replied, giving me one of those"It's fun to be evil" smiles. "They'll never know I'm here. Just open a window when you get upstairs and invite me in.
I shrugged,not having a good arguement, and trurdged upstairs to my third floor quarters. I fkicked on the lights and crossed to the window. Glancing outside, I saw no sign of my guest. I opened the window and a second later came a flittering and a chittering. A gray bat was hovering just outside.
How do they do that?
"C'mon in, "I whispered. The bat flew in and hovered a few seconds. The form of the bat began to shift, to flow, and in another few instants Msrchell stood before me,glancing about the room.
"Make yourself comfortable, " I offered as I crossed to my desk."I've got some work to do."
"Quaint,"observed the vampiress. "The bean counters out there must have a lot in common with the ones down here. She sighed, then noticed the T.V.. And my remote.And my big, comfy chair.
Plop
"At least you have cable," she remarked as she picked up the remote and waved it like a wand at the television. As the set came to life she added, "Buffy should be on. I love situation comedies."
With the vampiress occupied for the moment I fired up the computer. An advisory message popped up:

CLASS ONE COMMUNICATIONS SATELITTE ON LINE

About time. To date we here on Earth had to make do with a class three satellite relay. Ten hours for a message to reach home. Class threes rely on a real space tachyon transmission system Tachyons move faster than light,but not at infinite speed. Class one satellites drive tachyons
through supspace, allowing virtually instant communications throughout the galaxy. They are few in number due to their expense. I wondered briefly why we rated all of a sudden.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION flashed on to my screen.

I opened the comm link and beheld the image of Flurgre, out project manager. He's green and slimy looking, bipedal with three eyes, a couple slits for nostrils, and long, thin pink lips. A Blastoid Fortunately,we don't transmit smells. Blastoids have a certain ripeness about them.
He was dressed in agency brown with the usual orange highlights.
"Ah, Frazzi," he greeted in galactic common. His voice was thin and reedy. "I've been reviewing your repoirts with interest, especially since the death of Glore. I have some questions for you."
"Hey, Frazz, got any popcorn?" called out Marchell.
A rather perturbed look washed over Flurgre's face. At least, I think that's what it was. Blastoids always look a little perturbed.
"Who was that?" he asked pointedly. "Or should I ask what?"
Fluergre had questions. I didn't think he would like my answers.