Earth, New York City, Central Park
Tomorrow, 10:15 AM

A panel in the side of the spacecraft slid downward and angled away from it, forming a ramp. A humanoid alien descended it and stepped in front of the dozens of microphones and cameras. He was ancient and beyond, but looked just like a handsome young man in his final month of puberty, nineteen Earth years, perhaps. He wore a tuxedo with bowtie, flip-flop sandals, and a Yankees baseball cap. He brushed some long blonde hair away from his face, then spoke to the crowd of news people and their three billion viewers.

“Hello. My name is Zyden. My people wish to be friends with yours. There is no need to thank us for our charity and generosity. Our fleet of four million Hebelons merely desire the sanctuary of new homes here, among you. We evacuated before Hebela, our former home world, was destroyed in a great supernova catastrophe. We share a common genetic lineage, but have diverged slightly. Approximately seven million of your years ago, a species unknown to us deposited our ancestors there, and more of them here.”

Most of the reporters were stunned into silence, but a particularly dull one shouted, “Which direction is your home world? Like East, or South, or...?”

The alien winced at the painful subject. “It no longer exists. The direction varies due to the rotation of your planet, it’s orbit around your star, and other factors.”

An even less capable journalist shouted, “What kind of food do you eat?”

The alien sighed in irritation, then replied, “What do you eat? With the tremendous distance we travelled, a third of the way across the galaxy, and all the mysteries of the universe we might unveil for you, that is your question?” He sighed again. “I will continue to educate you and answer your questions for two hours, then my mates and I will require sustenance. We prefer pure water and fare similar to your ‘classic Italian’ cuisine, but salad and pizza will do.”

Four smaller aliens timidly peeked out of the ship’s entrance. He waved and told them, “Do not be afraid, loved ones. Join me.”

They slowly walked down the ramp, anxiously looking around. They were beautiful young girls oddly wearing cowboy boots, multicolored one-piece swimsuits, and the hardhats typical of construction workers. The smallest was a cute little blonde who looked about fourteen. The others were strawberry-blonde and a year or two older.

He turned back to the cameras and explained, “These four are my mates; Ryah, Lunita, Wenda, and Krim.”