By Pamela Love

Only moments before I had been reveling in the frost crunching beneath my sneakers and admiring Earth’s rising sun. Technically I wasn’t doing anything that was prohibited. It just never occurred to my superiors that any Civaran would willingly venture into freezing temperatures.

I shivered hard through the double layer of shirts and slacks but forged on across my rented house’s lawn. But with this being Florida amid Earth’s global warming, there’s almost no chance—

Thump! Something slammed onto the top of my head, and I collapsed on the sidewalk, unconscious.

“Are you okay?”

My eyelids slid open. Shaking my shoulder was a human male with thinning white hair. His sweatshirt depicted some kind of sea creature.

“Should I call 9-1-1?” he said. “What happened? You were just lying here…”

Allow a human to examine me? Especially a medical professional? Never. I was part of the Earthan Initiative, a group of Galactic races that traced Terran progress in spaceflight and culture. We hoped one day to invite humans to join other species in the galactic community. Until then, our presence was top secret.

Cold half-deadened my muscles, but I managed to push myself up onto one elbow. “No, I’m fine. I just slipped.”

The wrinkles on his forehead deepened as he took a closer look at me. “Well, I don’t see any bruises or blood. Maybe you should call your oncologist, though.”

My brain’s translator device activated. Oncologist: Physician specializing in cancer, a human mutative disease.

Cancer. I’d read about it. Why would he think I had it? Then I sucked in my breath as I spotted the reason: when I fell, my hat and glasses had come off. My hologram projector concealed my green scales and six-fingered hands, but technicians still hadn’t perfected human-looking hair. So, this human saw not just a bald man, but one without eyebrows or eyelashes. And a common treatment for cancer caused hair loss.

“Thanks, I will.” I stumbled to my feet, before returning to my dwelling. I knew that looked odd, but what else could I do with such cold, stiff hands? And much as I wanted to find out what hit me, I needed to wait for the too-helpful human to leave.

At least I wasn’t bleeding. Good thing. My twelve toes twitched, which is how Civarans reacted when amused. Maybe it wasn’t an attack at all. But the top of my head was still sore when I touched it. Wish I’d worn a helmet instead of a baseball cap.

Drinking and soaking in hot water raised my body temperature substantially. But even then, I shivered, not from cold, but from nervous tension. What was it that had hit me? A robbery? Although rare on Civara, crime was sadly common on Earth. Pulling out my wallet, my still-chilly fingers fumbled awkwardly through it. All contents accounted for. My comm was also in my pocket, but any human would think it was a pen.

No, I’m too large for any Earthan avian predator to see as prey. Also, it’s the wrong time of year for parent birds to protect their young.

Something must’ve fallen on me, but what? Remembering my studies of Florida geography, I looked out the window. No, the tree out front wasn’t a coconut.

Pulling on four shirts, I stepped outside, scanning the area for the human. Once positive he was gone, I began searching for data. This tree lacked large nuts or seeds. Whatever hit me must’ve fallen from higher up. I tipped my head way back. A hailstone? Unlikely during the winter. A meteorite? Even more unlikely. Space junk, or something that plummeted from an aircraft? Slightly more plausible, but if that were the case, where was it? In fact, where was anything that might have hit me? The human could have taken it, but why would he?

Maybe this likely mythical meteorite, or whatever it was, bounced off my head and landed in a bush growing by the foot of the not coconut tree. Crouching for a better look, I was startled as a reptile the length of my forearm crawled out. My guts twisted with homesickness.

Yet despite my additional clothing, I felt uncomfortable. The Earth reptile moved slowly, reminding me of how my fingers had fumbled earlier.

“You must’ve been freezing under that bush. Were you hiding from what hit me?”

Naturally, it didn’t answer.

Of course this was not a Civaran, let alone my nephew, but I couldn’t resist picking it up. “Can’t stand to have you suffering in this weather—gah!”

A savage scratch made me let go. The reptile hit the ground, not running, but certainly accelerating.

Turning to the tree, I discovered scratches on its bark matching those on my arm. “You climbed the tree, but the cold numbed you so much you couldn’t hold on. Luckily for you and unluckily for me, I was there to ease your fall.”

I waved farewell to the reptile, which I didn’t blame for slashing me. Should’ve known better—my nephew does the same thing when he doesn’t want to be picked up.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pamela Love was born in New Jersey and worked as a teacher and in marketing before becoming a writer. Her work has appeared in Havok, Page & Spine, and Luna Station Quarterly. She is the 2020 winner of the Magazine Merit Fiction Award for her story “The Fog Test,” which appeared in Cricket. She and her family live in Maryland.

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