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He was a typical six-year-old—a bundle of skinned knees, scrawny limbs, and stringy hair. And he was a bright kid, thank God. I’m no athlete, and neither is Susan; we both make our livings with our brains. I’m not sure how I would have related to him if he hadn’t been smart. Ricky was good natured and took well to new people. But for the last week or two there had been a bully beating him up, it seemed, on his way to school. He couldn’t understand why it was happening to him.
    I could relate to that.
    “Dinner’s almost ready,” said Susan.
    I headed to the upstairs bathroom and washed up. There was a mirror above the sink, of course; I made an effort not to look in it. I’d left the bathroom door open, and Ricky came in after me. I helped him wash his hands, inspecting them when he was done, and then my son and I went down to the dining room.
    I’ve always had a tendency to put on weight, but for years I’ve managed to control it by eating properly. But I’d recently been given a booklet. It said:
     
     
If you can’t each much food, it’s important that what you do eat is nutritious. It should also contain as many calories as possible. You can increase your calorie intake by adding butter or margarine to your food; mixing canned cream soups with milk or half-and-half cream; drinking eggnogs and milkshakes; adding cream sauce or melted cheese to vegetables; and snacking on nuts, seeds, peanut butter, and crackers.
     
     
    I used to love all those things, but for decades I’d avoided them. Now, I was supposed to eat them—but I didn’t find them the least bit appealing.
    Susan had grilled some chicken legs coated with Rice Krispies; she’d also prepared green beans and mashed potatoes, made with real cream, and for me, a small saucepan full of melted Cheez Whiz to pour over the potatoes. And she had made chocolate milkshakes, a necessity for me and a nice treat for Ricky. It was unfair, I knew, for her to have to do all the cooking. We used to take turns, but I couldn’t face it anymore, couldn’t face the smell.
    I checked my watch again; it was just coming up to six. We had a family rule: although the living-room TV was easily visible from the dining room, it was always off during meals. But tonight I made an exception: I got up from my place at the table, put on the CityPulse News at Six, and let my wife and son watch, mouths agape, as the home videos of the alien ship landing and the footage the videographer had shot of me and Hollus played.
    “My God,” Susan kept saying, her eyes wide. “My God.”
    “That is so cool,” said Ricky, looking at the wild, hand-held shots the videographer had taken in the Rotunda.
    I smiled at my son. He was right, of course. This was way cool, as cool as it gets.

4

     
     
    Earth’s various leaders were not pleased, but the aliens seemed to have no interest in visiting the United Nations, the White House, the European parliament, the Kremlin, India’s parliament, the Knesset, or the Vatican—all of which had immediately extended invitations. Still, by early the next day, there were eight other extraterrestrials—or their holographic avatars—on Earth, all of them Forhilnors.
    One was visiting a psychiatric hospital in West Virginia; he was apparently fascinated by unusual human behavior, especially severe schizophrenia. (Apparently, the alien had first appeared at a similar institution in Louisville, Kentucky, but had been dissatisfied with the level of cooperation he was receiving, and so had done precisely what Hollus had threatened to do at the ROM—he left and went to a more accommodating place.)
    Another alien was in Burundi, living with a group of mountain gorillas, who seemed to have accepted him quite readily.
    A third had attached himself to a public defender in San Francisco and was seen sitting in on arraignments.
    A fourth was in China, apparently spending time with a rice farmer in a remote village.
    A fifth was in Egypt, joining an