Aliens Aren't Human

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“What a beautiful day!” Kston said in his thin, lisping voice. “How pleasant to be at peace with the cosmos, and to enjoy the companionship of good friends! How wonderful it is to be alive on such a day!”

That was five seconds before the car hit him.

President Johnny Ciano, who was walking across the plaza with the little Dorrinian diplomat, saw the speeding vehicle first. It registered at the edge of his vision as a silver-blue shape which was changing its position with unusual rapidity, and the instinct for self-preservation—ever strong in his family—prompted him to check his stride. The car had swung off the street which formed the plaza’s southern boundary and was hurtling between an ornamental fountain and a soft drinks stand at over a hundred, its magnetic engine emitting an angry whine.

Ciano’s immediate thought was that the vehicle had gone out of control, then he made out the figure of his own cousin—Frankie Ritzo—crouched over the steering wheel, his eyes gleaming like miniature versions of the car’s headlights.

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