**Malibu Transmission, 1985** “I told you, don’t tan near the lab console,” said Marla, twirling her parasol. Tina adjusted her visor. “It’s not a lab anymore. It’s a tanning HQ with minor radiation leakage.” The CRT behind them flickered violently, scrolling blue code and Morse beeps. Marla squinted. “Is that… a weather report?” Tina smirked. “Nope. That’s Commander Wexler. Still trying to beam back after that Saturn pool party.” “He's been stuck in broadcast for two...
