Sloth
The Earthling
Mister Zixx was out hunting early one morning when he met the alien. It was a lovely day, with Phobos full and bright in the west, its largest crater clearly visible. Deimos wouldn't rise for a day or so, which was slightly disappointing, but the crisp air and amber dawn made up for it.
He followed the three-toed tracks of a sandbeast along the middle section of the Ruby Canal for a while, noting the way its tail left graceful curves in the deep orange dust. The canal's water was low, as usual, and it gurgled as it ran along the ancient stone aqueduct. Gray and green lichens covered its walls like strange hieroglyphics.
Mister Zixx checked, for the third time that morning, that his sting rifle was fully charged. He approached one of the many small bridges that crossed the canal and walked up its time-scarred steps. From the top he was able to see down into the endless expanse of the Crimson Desert, where sandbeasts hid among the jagged boulders. There, in front of a clump of skeletal thornbushes, stood the alien.
For a moment Mister Zixx thought it was one of his neighbors, dressed up in an outrageous costume of some sort. Quickly he realized that nobody could be that tall and thick-bodied, that the fur on its head and face were too real to be simulated, that there was no possible way to transform normal eyes into those tiny, watery ovals. Most of the being's body was hidden within its tight, clumsy clothing, but what could seen of its skin seemed pale and sickly.
Mister Zixx had never been one to doubt the evidence of his senses, nor one to turn down an opportunity to explore the unknown. He checked his sting rifle for the fourth time and approached the creature. It waved its massive arms and displayed a mouth full of teeth.
"Thank God I've found someone," the thing said. "I've been wandering this wasteland for hours, and I didn't dare cross the canal. They'd see me there, you know, but I think it's safe here."
"You speak the local language," Mister Zixx said.
The being barked harshly. "No, you speak my language. Plain old English. That's part of the joke, you see." The creature's lips turned down. "That's part of the bloody sick joke they've played on all of us."
"Where are you from?" Mister Zixx noted that the alien seemed to carry no weapons, and that there was no sign of a vehicle.
"Canberra, not that it makes any difference."
"Is that the name of your planet?"
Again that bark. "Not hardly. I'm from the same planet as everybody else."
"Are you from the third planet? We've often wondered if it was capable of supporting life. There are all kinds of wild stories about people from there, used to a world full of water, where the air is thick and wet. I never believed those stories."
"Oh, that's true enough, I suppose. It's everything else that's a lie." The alien approached him with its hands raised. "You've got to listen to me. This isn't bloody Mars. You're not a Martian. You're a human being, just like me."
"I don't understand." Mister Zixx wondered if it was possible for an alien to be insane.
The alien paced back and forth, leaving giant footprints in the sand. It seemed to be talking to itself. "We went to the Moon, and gave ourselves a big pat on the back. Then we got lazy. It was too much damned work to get to Mars. We were too busy killing each other, and watching other blokes kill each other on the tube. But it wasn't enough. We needed Martians. We were crazy mad in love with Martians, even though we knew bloody well they weren't out there." It turned to face him. "So we made them. We took a great chunk of the outback and carved it into Mars. We built canals, because we dreamed of a Mars with canals. We built a pair of tiny moons and blasted them into the sky."
Mister Zixx backed up slowly, his finger ready on the trigger of the sting rifle. "What about the people who live here?"
"That's the worst part," the alien said. "We took bits and pieces of human cells, and forced them into grotesque shapes. We wanted our Martians to have bronze skin, and eyes like golden coins. We wanted them to be elegant and wise and graceful, so we reached into our own bodies and created them. Then we sat back in front of our tubes and watched. It's not right. It's not decent. You've got to help me stop it!" The creature lunged at him.
Mister Zixx raised his sting rifle and fired. The alien fell unconscious.
A wind came up out of nowhere, filling his nostrils with the scent of dust. The sky seemed to blur, as if it were full of ghosts. Something unseen lifted the body of the alien off the ground and held it suspended. The air held of half-heard whispers.
dunno how he got this far poor security well no damage done he never got into camera range quick get him back here think anybody saw him doesnt matter theyll think it was a dream ok lift him up and get the field back on
The alien vanished. Everything was stillness.
Mister Zixx made his way home quickly. Mrs. Zixx was in the meditation dome, composing a new song on her musicsphere. Her pet cave lizards clung to the walls of the dome, their silvery skins like shining rivers. She stood and embraced her husband.
"You're back early," she said. "Any luck?"
"No," Mister Zixx said. "No luck at all. I'll start fixing something for lunch."
"There's a whole sourmelon in the cooler." She paused. "You seem a bit tired."
"Too much sun, I suppose. It's good to be home." He stroked her smooth head, then moved his hand down to the back of her neck. "Have I told you lately how much I love you? How much I love our life together? I wouldn't trade it for anything. Not for the whole world."
Mrs. Zixx kissed him. Their golden eyes gazed at each other. "Perhaps you should come home empty-handed more often. It seems to suit you."
Mister Zixx began craving open the sourmelon. Its musky scent filled the room. The pink flesh was full of tiny, edible black seeds that were savory when lightly roasted. It was good and real. You had to hold on to what was real. There was no other way to live.