George, Sal, and their houseguest Jenny were following the coverage of the alien visit on their TV set. The screen showed the lavish lobby of the Times Square Hilton, which was packed to overflowing with busy humans, busy aliens, and vigilant Thrag security guards. In one of the more thinly peopled conference rooms a news camera had been set up, and CNN anchorwoman Amistad O'Brien was introducing an eight-foot-tall, bloblike creature to the viewing audience. "Ambassador G'lump would like to tell the people of Earth that he is, er, much pleased to encircle them about the waist. I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense, but as you can see the ambassador has no mouth, so he has to communicate telepathically. He also says that…your planet is glorious full of mineral assets, including the black fluid of internal combustion, and he looks forward to exchanging fluids with you."
Jenny scowled and shook her head. "Those greedy G'lumpoids," she remarked. "They used up all the oil on their home world, so now their whole society is geared towards scavenging the stuff from other planets, legally or illegally. You Earthlings could learn a thing or two from their bad example."
"So, Jenny," said George, "now that the Alliance is setting up shop on Earth, do you think you'll be leaving us?"
The alien girl grinned at him. "I've had such a blast here, George," she said, "but my parents don't even know if I'm still alive, so they must be worried sick. I'll go as soon as a permanent space portal is established, but you can be sure I'll visit often. After all, a Kressidan with my level of experience should have no trouble getting a job as a cultural liaison."
"We'll miss you, Jenny," said Sal glumly. "We really will."
As Jenny stretched her slender arm around the moose girl's shoulders, she noticed a startling disruption of the news broadcast. More than a dozen figures in blue robes had appeared in the conference room, most of them quite tall, and every one distinguished by a golden horn attached to the forehead. Two in particular were recognizable to Jenny as the von Horsteins, who had served as her hosts during her period of underground captivity.
George rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "Unicorns," he marveled. "Unicorns on CNN."
"What are they doing?" Jenny blurted out. Catching herself, she added, "I mean, they can't be real unicorns, because unicorns are mythical."
On the screen, the crowd of horned, horse-like people (whose number had swelled to more than thirty) surrounded O'Brien and the G'lumpoid ambassador, their facial expressions more contrite than menacing. As Jenny watched breathlessly, Arlos von Horstein stepped into the camera's line of sight and stared into the lens as he spoke. "We, the unicorn people of the planet Earth, appeal to the interstellar Alliance for aid," he said formally. "Our very existence as a species is under threat. The humans view us as their enemies. They hate us, and they want to kill us!"
The televised call for help left George and Sal too surprised to speak. Their surprise turned into unmitigated shock when they saw Amistad O'Brien draw back her microphone and club Arlos across the nose repeatedly with the object. The TV camera, like an impartial witness, transmitted the scene as the bloodied unicorn man struggled to subdue the furious, shrieking newswoman.
"I can't believe what's happening," said George in awe. "Is this the news, or is it professional wrestling?"
"Quiet," said Jenny. "Whatever it is, it's really important."
After O'Brien had been rendered unconscious by a unicorn fist, Arlos addressed the camera once more. "Can you hear me, CNN?" he said in a pleading tone. "Why don't you show the American public what's going on outside the hotel? It's an absolute atrocity!"
A mere instant passed before the screen switched to a ground-level view of the howling mob that had suddenly gathered outside the Hilton's doors. Thousands of angry New Yorkers, including men, women, and children of all sizes, tried to push their way into the building, all the while shouting, "Kill the unicorns!" "Death to all unicorns!" "The unicorns must die!"
"Omigosh," said Sal quietly. "Is this, like, the end of the world or something?"
Jenny could feel her hearts cracking. I didn't want to believe it, but now I'm seeing it with my own eyes, she thought dolefully. Flickering laser beams lit up the TV screen as the Thrag soldiers attempted to repulse the attacking crowd, firing both from the entrance doors and from upper-story windows they had opened.
"What's wrong, Jenny?" asked George, observing that the alien girl's face had twisted into a sad shape.
As she stood up, she inexplicably spoke with a single voice instead of three simultaneous ones: "Sal, George, I can't stay any longer. I'm sorry."
"Where are you going?" Sal asked her.
"Home," was Jenny's bitter reply. "Everything the unicorns told me is true. Earth people haven't changed at all—they're carrying out another genocide at this moment!"
"No, Jenny!" said George. "It's not what it looks like! It can't be what it looks like!"
Ignoring the moose boy's protests, she walked limply to the door and vanished into the outside world. Meanwhile, another newsman had taken charge of the news broadcast, saying, "Downtown Manhattan is in chaos as violent mobs converge on the Times Square Hilton, determined to exterminate the unicorn threat once and for all. In this reporter's opinion, it's high time."
To be continued