Story Sampler

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  “A satellite, surely,” Alexi Levitov said, pointing to a stream of light cascading toward the Anderson’s field. “But I haven’t heard of any in that state of decay.”

  “No,” Adrian O’Donnell replied, watching the stream of light change direction, level out, and lightly touch down. “I don’t think it’s a satellite. Shouldn’t we investigate?”

  “It’s not our duty,” he replied. “We’re desk jockeys, remember? I’ll call the home office.”

  “Where’s your adventurous spirit, Lev?” Adrian asked. “Let’s take a look, first. It might be nothing.”

  “But—”

  “Look, Lev, this is my home; I have to find out what’s landed over there. Besides, the Anderson’s will be calling over here any moment—they known I’m here.” It was true, too—she was surprised they hadn’t already called. Perhaps they were sleeping—it was late, after all.

  “All right, you win,” Alexi said. “But just a look—and not a close look, either. I’ll call it in on the way over. Deal?” Lev had already taken out his cell phone, so Adrian shrugged and started walking toward the car. About ten minutes later, they pulled off into the Anderson’s cornfield, parked the car, and got out.

  The field was sprouting up nicely; the corn stalks were about waste-high and, being dressed in shorts and T-shirt, Lev was getting nicked by their long, sharp leaves. Adrian was, too, but she wasn’t griping about it—she had grown up on these farms and knew how to minimize the damage. The ship was at the far side of the field, and a bright light beamed out from one end of it. Something was standing where the light left the ship, but it wasn’t watching them. Lev stopped, whispering a description into the phone, but Adrian moved cautiously forward.

  When she was within thirty feet or so, she was able to see the creature better, and for all intents and purposes, it looked like a five-foot tall anteater. It was bipedal, pear-shaped, had a proboscis-like elongated snout, and was plucking moths out of the air with great skill. One thing was for certain: it wasn’t human.

  “Welcome to Earth,” Adrian said. It was a cliché, she knew, but what else should she say? It jumped and wheezed—until it was able to spit out the moth it had been choking on. “My name is Adrian O’Donnell. What should I call you?”

  It sat down, scratched the ground like a bull about to charge, tilted back its head, and made a funny noise. Adrian thought it was its name, but when she tried to repeat it, all that came out was gibberish. So she settled on Pidna. “Do you understand my language, Pidna?”she asked.

  I t straightened, clawed the ground deeply, rose up on its hind legs and growled. “Of course I do, Earther—” it started, then stopped. “Apologies, Adrian O’Donnell, but your pronunciation of my name was most inappropriate. However, it will suffice as, I am sure, your vocalization apparatus does not conform to my own, thus making it impossible for you to be accurate.”

  “No apologies necessary, um, Pudnana. Is that any better? I had no intention of insulting you.”

  “Better, yes, but still incorrect. I believe, however, the former would likely be the simpler solution. You may call me Pidna, Adrian O’Donnell.”

  “In that case, call me Dee.” By this time, she had moved in closer to see the ship better, particularly the light emanating from it. It was an oblong, metallic craft about twenty-five feet long and half that wide. The light was coming from inside a hollow tunnel, and bugs were flying inside, trying to reach the light. Before they could get there, though, they stopped in mid-air and fluttered to the tunnel floor. There, they were gathered up by an automatic sweeper. The bugs—they were still alive—were swept onto a conveyer belt that took them behind the light. As she watched, the light—it was sitting on a platform—moved forward a little bit. The ship was moving, too, in a kind of slow pirouette.

  “Very good, D’ee,” Pidna said, standing perfectly still. “And how might I address your companion?”

  “Hmm? Oh,” Dee said, glancing back to see Lev standing several feet behind her, his gun drawn. “Put that away, Lev,” she told him. “Pidna will not harm us. Will you, Pidna?”

  “Most assuredly not, D’ee. My journey here is a peaceful one intended to benefit both our species.”

  It still took a stern glare from Dee before Lev lowered the gun—and even then, he didn’t put it back in the holster.

  “This is Alexi Levitov—but we just call him Lev. You are free to do the same. Isn’t that right, Lev?”

  Lev nodded. “Yes.” After a brief pause, he added, “I would not have harmed you, either,” and put his gun in the holster with the snap undone.

  “Nor could you have, L’ev. However, if you do not mind, I have need of another locale. This area seems to be nearly depleted. If you would excuse me?” Pidna did something with its hands—they were paws, really, remarkably dexterous ones—and the light went out, leaving them in the dark. A few seconds later, the ship rose off the ground—with Pidna in it.

  “Lev?” Dee asked, wanting to be reassured by his presence. “We did see that, didn’t we?”

  “Yes,” he sighed, “and I had to phone it in. That was rather stupid, wasn’t it? With the ship gone, we’re going to—”

  Then the light blared out again, still close by but in another part of the field. We hadn’t even heard it land.

  “Hurry up,” Dee said, moving toward the light, thinking about the moths.

  “Pidna?” she called as they neared the ship.

  “D’ee? L’ev?” it replied without moving away from its ship.

  “We thought you were leaving!” Dee gasped, regaining her breath.

  “Oh, surely not. This area has a considerable bounty to offer. However, in order to harvest it, it is necessary to reorient the luminescence. I will be here for one of your I Love L’Ci Show. Perhaps a commercial longer.”

  “I Love Lucy Show?” Lev asked.

  “A sit-com from way back,” Dee said. “It’s about a half hour, maybe a little longer.”

  “Yes, yes,” Pidna said. “I do seem to recall that you have segmented time periods. However, we were unable to agree upon the designations and their lengths. Thank you for the insight; I will inform them upon my return.”

  “You’re going back, then?”

  “Most assuredly so,” Pidna replied, patting the ground. “Here, I do not belong. Perhaps I will return if the yield is sufficiently palatable and resilient.”

  “Oh?” Lev said. “And what if our leaders do not wish for you to return? What if they want to talk to you about it? You did mention it would be mutually beneficial.…”

  Pidna snorted. “Indeed. Should the yield be of sufficient quality and quantity, we intend to initiate trade with your world. It will be moderately embarrassing for us to trade with such an underdeveloped species, but, in the end, one must eat, yes?” To illustrate the fact, Pidna plucked another bug out of the air. “Ahh, it is not entirely unsatisfying. I must admit the prospects do indicate a favorable venture. Success, however, will be determined on my homeworld. It is time to reorient the luminescence.”

  By the end of the half hour, they had moved around the Andersons’ field eight times, all the while trying to keep up with Pidna as the alien collected samples of insects. Once Pidna had finished with the field, it used a strange-looking device to collect a few specimens that had luminescent sensitivity. Then Pidna left.

  By the time the field agents finally arrived, Pidna was gone and Dee and Lev had an unbelievable tale to tell. It wasn’t very convincing—even with the aid of the crop circles Pidna’s ship had left—until Pidna returned, a few months later, to negotiate a trade agreement and asked to speak with them.…