“Who? Your parents?”
“Parents?”
“Yes, your mother and father.”
“Ah, yes. You birth live on
this planet, don’t you?” She sighed, “We
don’t have parents where I come from. I’m a
hatching, fifth order, third rank, three-hundredth generation.
I have lived perhaps two hundred of your years, not long
by our standards. I still have much to learn.”
“Two hundred . . .a 'hatching'?
A bird?” It was a lot to swallow.
“No, no. Reptilian. Of course,
we alter ourselves to fit the norm on each planet, I mean
place, that we visit. That’s fun. We call it, 'dressing
up'. If you want, I could show you what I really look like,
but I’m not supposed to. Anyway, I don’t think
you would like it.”
“A reptile?” I said, thinking
snakes, lizards and horny toads. “But, you’re
such a pretty little girl.”
“Thank you, I got to choose
from the image archives. The eyes are exactly the same
color as the sky at home.”
OK, so I swallowed it all, hook, line
and sinker, and I’m a native New Yorker, seen every
con there is. Maybe I’m finally getting old, tired,
maybe a little lonely, just another sad sack. But, you
know, she really lit up my place, kinda made it glow. I
wanted to believe. Even if she turned out to be just a
smart midget from the Ringling Brothers circus over at
the Garden, I wanted to believe.
“So, what happened,. why are
you here?” I asked. “Did your people abandon
you? Where did they go? How will they find you?”
“It was my own fault. I was
on a data collect during a probe stop and didn’t
get back in time. It’s a big ship; so many of us.
They’re probably only now noticing my absence. But,
they’ll be back if only because the third directive
forbids us to leave anything or anyone behind when we go
on survey. Besides, it is known that the contract on my
transformation will expire soon. Of course, revelation
to the native population is discouraged, but I think they’ll
understand in this case.”
“But, where. . .” I stuttered.
She gave me that look that my geometry teacher in high
school used to give me to shut me up, so I stopped with
the questions.
Pearl wouldn’t accept food or
water, said she was fine, she just asked me to open the
window, and then settled into my big chair in front it
and stared at the sky. As far as I know, she pretty much
stayed there night and day the whole time she was with
me. Every day when I came home from work, there she’d
be, watching.
Having her around was nice. After
a couple of days I stopped worrying that she didn’t
eat, and I got used to her trances, which she said were
like our sleep. I liked having her there sitting there
at the window. Much better than a cat anytime.
Finally, I came home from work one
night, and she was gone.
The window was still open, the sky
dark and full of stars.
The place felt empty. Dead. I threw
my hat on the sofa, hung up my coat, and just stood there
wondering what to do. Then I saw it, a shiny, inch-square
silver box sat on the windowsill. Something she’d
forgotten. She’d have to come back for it. She’d
wasn’t supposed to leave anything behind. Or, maybe
it was for me. Maybe she’d broken that Third Directive
for me.
I did and didn’t want to open
it. Of course, I was curious, but as long as I let it sit
there unopened, I could imagine that she had just stepped
out of the room and would be right back, that her people
hadn’t come to fetch her.
I made myself a cup of tea, brought
it back to living room. The night was chilly, but there
was no way I was going to close that window, shut out the
stars. I sipped the fragrant liquid and stared at the box.
Yes, I should look. I picked it up and folded back the
intricately-hinged lid. A lovely pale-pink pearl, perfectly
round, nearly filled the box—a gift—totally against the
Directive.
I’d known that it couldn’t
last, and sometimes I wish we hadn’t met. Life had
been OK, boring and pointless, but OK, before she’d
appeared. But, now that I’d seen how it could be,
I wouldn’t be satisfied with that.
Maybe she’d come again, sent
back to retrieve what she had left behind.
