"Well, now, that's something you don't see every day."

Watching from a safe kilometer away, the night crew at Andrews Field stared as the small, light-colored craft became visible above a plume of yellow and white flame. Slowly, the craft touched down on a remote area of the runway.

"I suppose everyone within about 100 miles of here got an eyefull! Man, that thing was bright!" said another service crew member. Stunned silence fell over the workers. It was one thing to hear about aliens on the nightly news. It was another to see one landing, not too far from the employee parking lot.

"Now what?"

"We leave it alone. Don't get close to it, that's what they said."

x x x

Mark Watney was getting settled in at the rehabilitation center they'd chosen for him, near Langley Field, Virginia. He'd be here until after the state dinner. Beck and Martinez were on hand for the evening's festivities: both of them were still glued to the TV, as they watched the continuously-looping coverage of Oaiea's touchdown, from an hour or so ago. Dr. Beck had grudgingly allowed a few sips of beer for Mark, but the carbonation had quickly upset his stomach. He'd been back on Earth a little over two weeks now, and he was now able to-with some considerable effort-to walk unassisted for a few steps. His strength was returning, slowly, the product of daily, grueling physical therapy. He was pushing himself hard.

Though logically, Mark had read his charts. He knew now that he'd most likely shortened his lifespan considerably by taking such a long voyage in zero-G. His heart and lungs had suffered permanent damage, and his bone density was dangerously low. He could still live a normal life, after rehabilitation, he hoped; but he would need to be forever careful. One final "fuck you!" from Mars.

A musical note sounded, and Mark tapped his computer to pull up the message. Beck and Martinez turned back to him, ever interested to watch a message come in from Oaiea.

Mark. I need your help.

Mark paused. He started to tap out a message. He wasn't sure how much help he could be to anyone, in this condition, but he'd certainly do whatever he could.

What's wrong, Oaiea? And welcome to Earth, by the way. Beck and Martinez were reading over his shoulder, fascinated.

Thank you. I have been here once before. Mark, I underestimated the effects of your planet's gravity. Can you meet me at the ship? I need help to access the forward storage compartment. Mark was amused, but sympathetic. Poor Oaiea, it hadn't occurred to him that Earth's gravity would kick her ass, as well as his.

Oaiea, I can barely walk myself across a hospital room. And I haven't been cleared to drive a car.

Mark met eyes with Beck and Martinez, who were both nodding eagerly.

Can I send my crewmates, instead? They are happy to help. They can be there in about three hours.

"Three hours? I bet you fifty bucks we can be there in two!" Martinez grabbed his keys and started for the door, tossing his cell phone to Mark.

Beck snorted. "And here I was, thinking that watching an alien spacecraft landing on TV was going to be the most interesting thing I did tonight."

That will be fine, Mark. Please stand by for translation assistance. I will notify you when they arrive.

I'd better call President Roberts, Mark thought.

x x x

"Slow down, for God's sake! You're going to get us killed, Rick!" Beck shouted. Martinez was weaving through the light traffic on I-64. Beck glanced at the speedometer. It read 95 mph.

"I am going slow. This is as slow as I know how to drive." Martinez smirked at him. "What are they going to do, pull me over and give me a ticket?"

Beck rolled his eyes. "I'm not worried about getting pulled over. I'm worried about how they're going to be sponging you off the pavement."

"Relax. I haven't lost any passengers. Lately."

Beck's phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Beck, this is Teddy Sanders again. How close are you guys?"

"Five minutes."

"Three minutes." argued Martinez.

"Good, good. Okay, guys. Just remember the protocol. Wait for Mark to act as translator, if there's any question. Don't make any sudden movements."

"She's not going to BITE us, Teddy. This is the alien equivalent of when my wife yells at me to get something off a high shelf for her." Martinez grinned. No sudden movements. Seriously? "Relax."

"You guys pay attention, okay? And be careful. Andrews should be able to wave you right through, just show them your ID. The president is waiting for my call. Keep me in the loop." He hung up.

Martinez steered the car through the main gates, as a flurry of flashbulbs exploded. Clearly, the media had been tipped off.

They parked some distance from the remote runway, and walked the rest of the way. Beck texted Mark when they stood a few meters away, looking up uncertainly at the tall, sand-colored ship.

We're here.

"Okay, so go on in there." Beck looked at Martinez.

"Here goes nothing." Martinez stepped into the open airlock. "Oh damn, it's a really tight squeeze through here, man."

Greetings. Welcome aboard. They froze.

"Man, does it freak you out to hear someone else using Watney's voice like that?" Martinez whispered.

Beck nodded emphatically. He called out, "Hello, Oaiea" for lack of anything better to say, as Martinez climbed up ahead to the next landing.

Oaiea sat reclined, on the short couch opposite the small kitchen that Mark had described to them. Her eyes were wide and darted from Beck to Martinez. She gestured to the round panel above them. Beck stretched his hands up. He could reach it on tiptoe.

You will need this. She held out her round computer to Beck. He took it, gingerly, and held it up towards the panel while Oaiea spoke to it. The panel opened and then slowly swung down. He handed the computer back to her silently.

I need the white box. Beck peered up into the cylinder-shaped storage area.

"I don't see it. Do you?" Beck asked Martinez.

"Um... yea, I think so. Is that it? Give me a boost." Martinez brushed his fingers along a long, white enameled box that was packed snugly against the bulkhead. He carefully pulled it loose and then handed it down to Beck. "It's heavier than it looks."

Place it on the floor.

Beck did as he was asked. He paused for a moment, studying Oaiea more closely, as his doctor's instincts began to kick in. Oaiea looked visibly exhausted and ill. He dialed Mark, his heart pounding.

"Mark, is she okay? She looks like she needs medical attention."

"Oh, no. Shit. Okay, let me ask her."

Moments later Oaiea's computer sang out.

She listened to Mark's message, looked at Beck, her chalcedony eyes boring into his. Then she smiled, and broke into laughter. She was laughing at him. She sang out a reply to Mark.

"She's fine, Beck. Says she needs to sleep a couple of cycles in high gravity, and then she'll adjust and be fine. She appreciates your concern." The snarky tone in Mark's voice told Beck that Oaiea's actual message had been more colorful.

Beck exhaled. "Good. Okay, tell her I'm sorry for being nosy. We're leaving now."

She smiled at them again, her eyes still laughing and limpid.

Thank you, Major Martinez. Dr. Bossy Beck. Goodbye.