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red light.
    “Your ground vehicle rules are inane,” he complained.
    “They are there to save lives!” she panted, one hand on her chest, one on her neck to see if her pulse was still working.
    “They need to make new rules for experienced drivers,” he groused, tapping his fingers absently on the steering wheel.
    A cop pulled up beside them and did a double take as he took in the driver’s appearance.
    That might be some help, she decided, or at least a delay. “Officer,” she called, smiling as the cop in question tore his eyes away from the alien driving to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “He’s an alien.”
    “German, from the looks of things.” He nodded. “Nice car.”
    “Wonderful primitive technology,” Valan replied.
    “Well, now I know you’re German.” The cop laughed. “But Dodge is a very good American brand, almost on par with Mercedes Benz.”
    A fellow gearhead, Kilana mused, opening her mouth to yell for help.
    But the light changed, and Valan shifted the car into first, waving at the officer, who also didn’t notice the antennas.
    “Have a nice day!” the officer called as Valan did his magic and the car rocketed away again.
    The cop never even followed.
    And Kilana was sure she developed three new gray hairs and had to check her underwear for embarrassing yellow stains as he slowed down to a conservative forty-five to sniff out another restaurant.
    Yes, sniff. That was how he was choosing their eating establishment of the day.
    He would slow down marginally and sniff.
    He rolled down the window as the newest establishment barely came into view and inhaled deeply. Finally, he gave her a little satisfied grunt.
    “This is the place,” he decided, and Kilana stared at him as if he had grown another head.
    “You think?”
    “Constantly.” He grinned at her, exposing fangs. “That is why my people have advanced so much further than yours.”
    Then, before she could give him a proper response to that bit of an insult, he was spinning the wheel, cutting off an oncoming semi and slamming into a parking lot. He burned rubber and squealed tires to the left, beating out a teenager bling-blinging in an Escalade. He narrowly missed creaming an old woman climbing out of a huge Cadillac as he slammed into a parking spot.
    “We’re here.” He smiled, reminding her of another similar pronouncement in a movie and the disastrous results that followed.
    “Give me strength,” she moaned as the old lady cursed and the teenager honked the horn in approval. “Lord, give me strength to get through this meal.”

Chapter Seven
    Absolutely never take an alien out in public. Society as a whole is not ready to believe that they are not alone in the universe, no matter what they say. So do not take an alien out in public. But if for some reason you must, be sure to take the alien someplace quiet and rural, where there will be no crowds. The fewer people the better.
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    “Are you sure that your chef is experienced in the preparation of all-natural, chemical-free foods?”
    “Yeah.” The waiter was beginning to look put upon as he stood tapping his toes waiting for the alien to order. Funny, but he didn’t seem to notice the antennas, either.
    “Vegan chef.”
    “And the meats have to be freshly butchered with no chemical processing.”
    “Okay.” The waiter shifted his weight, rolling his eyes. “Not vegan, but definitely healthy.”
    “Very healthy.” Valan nodded. “My Kilana only eats the best quality, freshest, chemical-free foods you can procure.”
    “So, no char grilling?”
    “Char…?” He tilted his head to the side, looking cute and confused again.
    “He’s an alien,” Kilana helpfully provided, wondering if anything different was going to happen.
    From the moment he’d ushered her into this overpriced garden bowl, people had been falling all over themselves to assist them. No one made mention that the man with her was paler than watered milk and was wearing a pair of