“Well, it is obvious that they are a couple,” Anjelica explained to her little brother. “Because they are never very far from each other.” She arranged her collection of make-up samples before her on the breakroom dining table. She had collected winter, spring, summer, and fall palettes from her tia Rosa, who did a steady side business in Mary Kay cosmetics. Contemplating the variety, she was prepared for several skin tones, although translucent gray was not very common in her YouTube tutorials. Nonetheless, she felt prepared to attempt a makeover. “I’m guessing that the one in the red shirt is macho because he is always working with tools, while the other one is hembra because she seems to be clever.”

Chuy failed to notice that she had called the female smarter. He was still unsure and deep in contemplation. Even at a young age, he was certain that a macho should have a pitillo of his own, and neither of them seemed to have much of anything down there. This is why they didn’t have to wear pants. Chuy had been wearing pants ever since he started wearing his big boy chonis and was not allowed to leave the house without them anymore. He thought that the one in the Coke shirt was just a little bit larger, and probably older than himself, and yet… “Si,” he nodded seriously, “but how do you know?”

In fact, short of a genetic test, there were few exomorphic indicators to determine the gender of either visitor. The concept of complementary gametes would be far too complex to discuss with the visitors, given their apparent reluctance to speak at all. For their part, it may be safe to assume that the visitors considered the application of cosmetics to be some sort of divisional designation, possibly, or a promotion in rank.

Anjelica could not be bothered with the preposterous possibility that human gender norms were not, in fact, universal, as she decided which eye shadow palette was best suited to the visitor’s pale complexion. She thought the pale, translucent skin invited bold colors like blues and greens, but the foundations were entirely useless to her in any flesh tone. Even a slight blush seemed all wrong on their monochromatic cheeks. Rather than struggling with the warmer end of the spectrum, Anjelica opted to utilize the smokey eye kit offering a wide variety of grays to accentuate the visitor’s cheekbones and narrow her nearly nonexistent nose. Applied under the stark fluorescent break room lights, the classic black and white coloring gave the anthropomorphic amphibian a gothic severity that bordered on B-movie vamp. After a few failed attempts to locate la hembra’s eyebrows, Anjelica drew a line at a satisfactory distance from the large, almond-shaped gray irises and filled them in with a mascara brush to give the illusion of fine hair. The final result gave the tiny visitor a coy and bemused expression which only served to amplify her Morticia Addams appearance.

Although Anjelica contemplated teaching her visitor some feminine gestures, Chuy had already begun the process of gender assignment on his apparently macho counterpart. Taking Coke to the opposite side of the room, he proceeded to demonstrate the manliest virtues that he yet knew, considering them to be sufficient. Using his uncle as a model of masculinity – because his uncle was still single and therefore macho – Chuy attempted to demonstrate hitching up his belt, though the visitor didn’t have one. Realizing that this was impossible, Chuy taught his counterpart the importance of a crotch adjustment, grabbing his pitillo and shifting it slightly with a stern look on his face. While he did not yet understand the reason, he was sure that he had never seen his tia do this, but he had seen his tios do it, frequently, and so he considered it very manly. El Macho seemed fascinated by the process and took to practicing. Owing to a significantly less substantial salivary gland, it found the volume of spit insufficient to impress young Chuy, a dedicated teacher who considered distance, cohesion, and volume to be equally important to a convincing spit.

Having completed La Hembra’s makeover, Anjelica was surprised when Macho stepped up behind her, tugging at the hem of her blouse. Demonstrating his newfound skills, Macho adjusted his crotch and spit to one side. Assuming that he would be next in line for the ceremonial face painting, he stood patiently awaiting his makeover. Anjelica, having misinterpreted this gesture as offering her thanks for doing La Hembra’s make-up, thereby making his partner look sexier, patted Coke on the head magnanimously and said: “You are welcome.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

* * *

Levy wasn’t in the best condition to rent a moving van. Under the best conditions, it looks pretty bad to be huddled next to the front door of the rental company when it opens but rushing into the establishment wearing wraparound sunglasses and a dark featureless ball cap pulled down over his face might have given the management a poor first impression. Stammering his apologies through chattering teeth didn’t help soothe their growing fears, and when he removed his hat to dry his eyebrows, one look at his sweat-wet curls and waxy forehead ought to have given a mortician concerns. Eventually, the only way that he could convince them to rent him the van was by placing a significant deposit on it. Sliding the TIG maintenance department Visa into the slot, Levy was gripped with a surprise endorphin rush, like watching a contestant spin the wheel and stupidly clap their hands chanting “Big money, no whammies.”

Fifteen minutes and a five-thousand-dollar advanced hold on the TIG credit card later, Levy was pulling out of the rental van parking lot, wondering if the payload would be big enough to fit his robot friend.

With the Stryker gone, there was plenty of room to back the truck straight in and load without witnesses. He ducked inside to make sure that Andy and the pilots were out of view when he opened the door. He found them tucked around the corner near the loaded cold case shelves. The pilots squatted on the robot’s shoulder, casually perusing top secret documents like magazines in a dentist’s office waiting room.

“Uh,” Levy wanted to stop them. He was probably legally obliged to stop them, but he wasn’t sure if interplanetary espionage was his department. Not like playing concierge to a time-traveling mecha and a pair of albino amphibians was in his job description either.

The pilots glanced up from their dossiers with a curious tilt of their heads. “Yeah, you probably know all this stuff anyway,” he shrugged. “Hey, uh, Andy!”

The robot perked up at its name.

“I got us a chariot fit for the gods, even got an airconditioned payload and a sunroof!” It was the apartment special with a hand truck, some straps, and a stack of boxes, but Levy kicked them all out of the back to make way for the tourists.

The robot bent down to inspect the inside of the payload. As it did so, it seemed to shrink by degrees, servos making tiny shifts and adjustments in anticipation of the tight fit.

“Where’s the sunroof?” Andy asked, twisting slightly to inspect the ceiling as if he had been particular about the amenities.

Levy glanced up at the opaque plastic panel that ran the length of the payload compartment. He blinked at it. “Sorry, bud. It’s natural light at least. He scrambled out of the back of the van before he was wedged in there, still cautious not to touch the robot in case he upset it. With its toes splayed like a gecko, the narrow rental van loading ramp was too flimsy to bear the robot's weight, and a nuisance, after all.

Levy had been so entirely consumed with watching the robot twist and contort itself into the back of the van that he did not notice the cleaning lady, who quietly strolled up behind them. Her metal robot friend's rear was hanging out of the back of the van precariously. While the robot did not make grunting noises, it did make tiny mechanical buzzing noises with each micro movement that did sort of sound like grunts. She chuckled to see the robot trying to squeeze itself into the truck.

Startled by her chuckle, Levy turned to find her standing there. Futilely attempting to block her view at first, or trying to distract her from the obvious, he had assumed that he was still the only earthling aware of their existence. She simply smiled up at him and offered him a plastic shopping bag.

Levy peered into the bag and found a ninja costume complete with a face mask and plastic samurai sword, as well as a princess dress with a tattered blonde wig and a plastic fashion doll mask. “I think it is better if they no show their face.” She nodded emphatically.

At the bottom of the bag, he found dozens of paper packets labeled in Spanish with the Quaker's familiar face on them.

“Y avena!” she beamed.

“Aw, Marta, I could kiss you!” Levy felt like dancing.

She nodded. She was flattered, but… “¿Todo bien, mi amigo?” Marta called out to the robot.

After a moment of analyzing the infrared displays, the robot realized that she had called it friend. “Si, señora. Estoy muy bien, gracias.”

Marta smiled politely. “Bueno,” she said, smoothing the front of her tunic, just pleased at having done something so simple, yet charitable. “Que se vayan bien,” she said to the pair of visitors as if wishing a departing dinner guest well.

Pleased with their new apparel, each took a moment to thank her. El macho gratefully grabbed his crotch and spit to the side ceremonially as La hembra attempted to flutter her long eyelash extensions and bowed ever so demurely.