Drexen had been on Earth six days and no one would look at him twice without flinching. He was green, and he was Xorian, from a planet of forty thousand men who could father pure Xorian children with any partner of any world. He wanted a hundred children scattered across Starlandus before he went home to Vexma. On Earth he got as far as a woman in a bar who dropped her drink when he smiled. He walked out, found a shimmer between two dumpsters, and stepped through because anywhere was better than a place that screamed at his face. He came out on a coast road at dusk, in front of a white inn with blue trim and yellow roses climbing the porch. A man stood at the open door in a yellow tank top, arms crossed, watching him. Drexen braced for the scream. Instead the man said, "You look tired. Come sit." His name was José. He led Drexen to a couch in the lobby and brought him water. Drexen told him about Vexma, about his two fathers, about the child he had once run toward before the boy could recognize him. José listened. He said little. When he spoke it was short and clean. Hours passed. Drexen watched the way José's hand rested on the arm of the chair and thought, this one. This one will do. He told José the rest. A hundred children. Every world. Then home. José's mouth tightened. "So I would be a stop," he said. "Yes," Drexen said. José looked at the floor for a long moment. Outside, rain started, though the sky had been clear. Drexen leaned across the space between them and kissed him. José did not pull away. When Drexen drew back, José said, "One night. Then you go." "One night," Drexen said. José stood and locked the front door and led him up the stairs. Drexen followed, already counting: one down, ninety-nine to go, and the warm constant weight of a carried child still ahead of him somewhere in the dark.