Three rust-colored leaves floated past Sala’s balcony and landed on the water below. The sun smoldered just above the horizon. Drawing on a pipe, the captain gazed over the railing from his white wicker chair. Sala was still in bed, her little form resting on top of the blankets, sweaty and feverish.

The dog’s head lifted from the rug and his ears went up. The captain took notice. He stood and leaned over the balcony. There they come, he said. One after another green, spindly fish-men lurched out of the water, gills pulling in the cold air. The girl watched them through the balcony balusters without moving her head. Are they coming for me, Captain? she asked.

The Captain smiled. He could hear the fish feet slapping the wood floor downstairs. No, you’re one of us now, he said. Soon three of the fish creatures crowded through the bedroom doorway and stood dripping on the rug. The dog growled and then barked, backing away. You can’t take her, the Captain said calmly. The glassy fish eyes stared. She’s one of us now. But just as he said that a harpoon pinned his right hand to the railing. He yelled. Another one shot straight though his chest. The fish-man lowered his harpoon gun. Then the other two fish-men went for the child with a weighted net. You’re too late, she said, rising up on the mattress before they could reach her. She held up her hand and spread apart her little fingers. No more webbing! She ran her hand down the side of her neck. No more gills!

The fish people stared. A fourth fish-man pushed through the doorway, raising a spear above his head. The girl stood tall and let out an ear-piercing screech. Before they could react she jumped off the bed and ran out down the stairs.

Soon she was outside on her bike, pedaling like mad up the muddy road.

When she arrived at the old cottage it was nightfall. Smoke floated up from the chimney. She banged her tiny fist on the red door. But out of nowhere fish-men rose up behind her, blocking the moonlight. She banged on the door more urgently then tried the knob and it opened. She slammed it behind her and slid the lock closed. I’m human now! she shouted through the door with the biggest voice she had. You’re not my family anymore!

She stood by the door, listening. It was quiet. Minutes passed. Is that you, Trip? asked an old woman seated by the pot-bellied stove at the other end of the room. Sala turned. Hi J.P., she said to the old woman. It’s me, Sala.

J.P. rose from her rocker and looked deeply into Sala’s eyes. You have clear eyes, she said. Not fishy.

Thanks to you.

Yes, I remember, J.P. said. She walked slowly to the window and looked out into the blackness before drawing the curtain. You will have to face them one day, you know. Your family, that is, she said. Sooner better than later, the old woman continued. She opened a large trunk. Take this. She handed Sala a glittering trident. Sala beamed and touched the three impossibly sharp tips with her finger.

Later J.P. made a bed for Sala on the couch. Sala smiled up at J.P. as the old woman covered her with a large quilt. She was still clutching her new trident and smiling as J.P. blew out the candles and went upstairs to bed.

This guy was frozen solid. Me and Marty stood him up and leaned him against a tree and he stayed in that position: arms out, almost Christ-like. Frozen hair spiking every-which-way. Eyes glassy and staring. His expression a twisted scowl. I brushed some powdery snow off his forehead with my glove.

You hungry? asked Marty. Cuz I ain’t eaten all day.

What, and leave this guy here?

He ain’t goin’ anywhere.

Yeah, but what about them kids? It was decided: we lifted the frozen man and set him in the back of Marty’s pickup truck. We threw a furniture blanket over him so no one would really see anything.

Later at Spidelda’s Inn we sat finishing onion rings. There was a large chandelier made of antlers overhead and a fire burned in the fireplace. How long do you suppose he was lying there frozen? Marty asked.

I don’t know. But hardly anyone wears clothes like that anymore. Maybe he was an old miner back in the day.

Miners don’t dress like that. Maybe a prospector.

What do you think would happen if we un-froze him?

He ain’t comin back to life.

Why not?

You can’t freeze someone and have ‘em come back to life. That’s science fiction.

A red-headed waitress named Rosa came over. You gentlemen finished with yer onion rings?

Driving back out to Spurry we couldn’t help wondering what would happen if he really did come back to life. When we got to the trailer we leaned him against the wall right by the space heater. Then we went back out to the woods to finish tapping the maple trees and all but forgot about him. It was dark when we returned to the trailer that evening.

Did you turn off the outside light this mornin’? asked Marty.

No. Maybe it burned out. We walked up the steps and kicked snow off our boots. Marty pulled open the outside door and then the inside door. It was dark in the trailer and there was a silhouette of a figure on the couch in front of the TV. It’s the prospector, Marty said in an excited whisper. Hello, sir! Marty said but the figure rose up and lunged at us, holding a pick-ax high above his head. I was out of there in a flash, the door slamming itself shut behind me.

Back so soon? asked Rosa when I showed up out-of-breath at Spidelda’s. I could not get a word out. Here, I’ll get you a coffee so you can warm up and tell me what happened, she said and went back behind the counter. Just then something crashed through the plate-glass window behind me. I turned to see the old prospector, still blue from the cold, with his pick in one hand and Marty’s disembodied head in the other.

Rosa pressed a shotgun into my hands. You want to do the honors? she asked. It took multiple shots to bring him down. Afterwards I stood with Rosa over the body with its frozen blue skin. The bullet holes were clean and bloodless. You know, I wish he didn’t have to die this way, I said. Rosa hugged me to her breast. You did the right thing. What’s an old prospector gonna tell us that we don’t already know?

I returned the hug and the hug turned into a passionate kiss. That night we did some serious drinking in her cabin and I found myself staring into the wild flames dancing on her hearth. I confessed to being haunted by the image of the blue-skinned prospector holding my friend’s head. Forget about them, she told me. Forget, baby. She smiled and narrowed her eyes. Come join me by the fire.

When Arthur revived, he was in a panic. He quickly dug himself out from under a pile of moon dirt with gloved hands. His heart pounded in his spacesuit. His breathing was ragged. The moonscape was empty except for two human forms in similar suits lying half-buried in the white dirt not far away. Arthur had no memory of how he got here, or of even training for a mission like this. He only remembered childhood scenes at a farmhouse with a long hay bale elevator rising up to a loft in the barn and the heady smell of cow manure. He remembered running barefoot in the mud, catching chickens. But he had no memory of any recent events. Like where did this oversized spacesuit come from? How did he get up here? Earth was a distant crescent just above the horizon.

When he got to his feet he bounced into the air and spun a little, causing instant nausea and vertigo. But after a few bounding steps he made it over to one of the other humans. He put his gloved hand on the shoulder and flipped the body over. A stunningly beautiful face slept behind the glass. He shook her by her shoulders and they both bounced in the zero gravity. Her eyes did not open. Releasing her he bounded over to the next body.

To his surprise, she had the same outlandishly beautiful face as the first, also apparently asleep. He carried her over and laid them side-by-side.

As he bounced around the moon he found more and more versions of the same beautiful woman, all of them unconscious. He brought them all to one general area and put them close together, all the faces identical.

After what seemed like hours of collecting he sat on the edge of a moon rock, resting his bulbous space head in his gloved hands. Behind him was a field of maybe fifty unconscious young women in space suits. As he sat gazing out at the sparkling diamond stars of the Milky Way and the blue-green slice of Earth, there was movement behind his back. Soon the crowd rose up and came closer. Then suddenly there were hands grabbing every square inch of his body. He tried to push his way out but some twenty gloved hands held him fast.

They carried him over several dunes and up a steep incline, finally reaching the edge of a live volcano that was puking molten lava into the sky. He was then tossed into the burning pit of liquid rock.

In an hour he was crawling back up out of the volcanic crater, his suit burnt black and his flesh inside charred and raw. The women’s footprints led to a spacecraft that was just now taking off in the distance. The vacuum of space deleted his frantic yelling. He waved his arms.

The moon rocket continued soundlessly upward, arcing out toward the Earth. He stood still and stared until it became a silver speck. Then he turned toward the cliff. He walked back uphill, losing a little oxygen with every breath.