His golden skin flushes darker—a fascinating reaction that makes the geometric patterns along his arms pulse brighter. “Ah! Yes! That would be my... my cologne.” The word comes out strangled, like he’s never heard it before and isn’t entirely sure what it means. “Very popular masculine fragrance. All males wear such... potent scents when they encounter attractive safety inspectors.”
He stops, clearly realizing what he just said.
“Professional safety inspectors,” he corrects hastily, the luminescent beads multiplying along his hairline. “Very professional. Extremely professional attractive—I mean, competent. Professional competence is very... appealing to observe in action.”
I stare at him. This gorgeous, obviously alien male is having what appears to be a biological crisis in my presence, and he’s trying to convince me it’s cologne.
It’s possibly the most endearing thing I’ve witnessed in months.
“What brand?” I ask, mostly to see what he’ll come up with.
“It is...” His gaze darts around desperately while more of that luminescent fluid beads along his skin. The heat shimmer around him intensifies until I swear I can see it with my naked eye. “Very expensive. Human-manufactured. From... the human planet of... Humanville.”
I blink at him. “Humanville?”
“Very authentic human location,” he insists with the kind of desperate conviction that suggests he’s never been within three sectors of human space. “You would find their cologne most... appealing? To your human sensory organs?”
The metallic-honey-lightning scent intensifies around him, and my scanner starts displaying what I swear looks like enthusiasm. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my equipment was enjoying this as much as I am.
Before I can ask more about the obviously fictional planet Humanville and its exotic cologne industry, a strangled sound comes from above us—like someone trying not to laugh while also having a panic attack. The ventilation grate rattles violently, and something that looks suspiciously like a rainbow-colored droplet splashes onto the platform near my boots.
“That sound would be... Jitters expressing approval,” he says quickly, though his voice has gotten rougher, more of that purring undertone bleeding through. The luminescent beads are multiplying across his golden skin now, and the heat shimmer around him is making the air itself seem to dance. “He becomes... enthusiastic... when witnessing successful courtship displays. Very supportive of reproductive compatibility.”
My scanner chooses that moment to beep helpfully and display: SECONDARY BIOLOGICAL SIGNATURE DETECTED. CLASSIFICATION: EXTREMELY AGITATED.
“Pets that express opinions about your mating attempts?”
“Emotional... investment in my reproductive success,” he says weakly. “Creates behavioral phenomena that mimic... distress when outcomes appear uncertain.”
The grate rattles more violently. A blob of what appears to be liquid rainbow drops down with a wet splat, lands squarely on his shoulder, takes one look at me, and immediately turns bright alarm-red while vibrating like a distressed tuning fork.
The effect is so ridiculous—this gorgeous Velogian male trying to convince me his overheating is an attractive mating display while being slowly covered by an increasingly panicked blob creature—that I almost forget about the professional implications.
Almost.
My scanner detects the new arrival and promptly displays: UNREGISTERED LIFEFORM DETECTED. SPECIES CLASSIFICATION: UNKNOWN. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE DOCUMENTATION FOR OOPS DATABASE. QUARANTINE PROTOCOLS ADVISED. SUBJECT CORTISOL LEVELS CRITICAL. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE CALMING INTERVENTION.
I stare at the readout. Did my scanner just tell me to cuddle the illegal alien blob? I really need to have a conversation with KiKi about appropriate boundaries in professional assessments. But knowing her, she’d just argue that “biological compatibility indicators” are technically safety-related data points.
“Jitters, no,” Crash whispers urgently to the blob, his voice going soft and gentle despite his obvious biological crisis. “Calm yourself. She is not a threat requiring panic responses.”
The blob—Jitters—quivers more violently and cycles through several shades of distressed purple before settling on nauseated green, still vibrating anxiously. As I watch, it attempts to camouflage itself against Crash’s golden skin, overshoots byseveral shades, and turns him bright orange with electric blue polka dots.
“He’s trying to help you blend in,” I realize, and something about the creature’s desperate attempt to protect its person by making him look more human—and failing spectacularly—hits me right in the chest.
“Jitters does not understand human color palettes,” Crash admits, looking down at his polka-dotted arm with fond exasperation. “He tries to be helpful, but...”
“But he’s never encountered someone who triggers this kind of reaction in you before,” I finish. “Has he?”
Crash goes very still. For a moment, the only sound is Jitters’s anxious vibrating and the distant hum of the platform’s life support systems.
“This is... normal biological response,” he says finally, but the fight has gone out of his voice. “All Velogian males produce such... enthusiastic pheromones when encountering compatible...” He trails off, golden skin flushing darker. “When meeting professional safety inspectors.”
I’m starting to understand why the other inspectors filed emergency reports, but whatever they experienced, it’s completely different from this. They described hostile biological agents and toxic compounds. I’m getting readings about compatibility and optimal proximity while watching a gorgeous Velogian male have what appears to be a biological crisis because I walked onto his platform.
“Mr. Maxone,” I say carefully, watching him attempt to scrape orange polka dots off his arm while Jitters vibrates with increasingly obvious distress, “what exactly is happening here?”
“Very normal Velogian reactions,” he insists, even as those golden markings pulse brighter and the heat shimmer around him becomes visible to the naked eye. “All males of my species respond this way to... to genetically compatible females.”
