Even the seagulls seemed afraid of the boat. They kept well away, their black eyes following my daughter Christine's hands as she tore tiny chunks from her peanut butter sandwich and tossed them into the low waves.
       "Ritualistic?" The loruri inquired from the stern of the yacht.
       "Temperamental," I replied. "She's still too young to appreciate the immense opportunity your visit has afforded us."
       Christine was only ten, old enough not to be frightened by the alien, but still too young to realize how important the loruri was to not just our future, but the future of humanity. Civilization had just about reached its limit. Population had spiraled out of control. Global warming had turned the environment into an endless stream of natural disasters. Pandemics ravaged the planet, and it seemed like society would collapse at any moment.
       The aliens could change all that. They had technology. They were willing to trade, but we'd yet to find anything significant they wanted.
       The loruri dipped its slender neck, its bulbous blue-green eyes swiveling as it scanned the length of Crescent Beach and the crowd lined up along the shore. Its dull orange hide twitched, skin bumpy and mottled like a faded basketball, its slender body all angles and bones like the struts of a broken umbrella except for the two segmented appendages that stretched sinuously at its sides and two baby-sized arms protruding from the base of its long neck.
       One of the tiny arms brushed the black slit of its mouth before it spoke again. "This is a good choice. We will begin the tasting here, please, and thank you."
       I cut the motor and tossed out the anchor. The loruri waited for the wake to settle before shuffling awkwardly to the gunwale, waddling like I imagined a pterodactyl would have, its long outer arms tented and rigid.
       "The cup." One of those outer arms raised, bending toward me with soft clicking sounds.
       I tugged the special black-plastic case from under the forward bench, and removed the clear quartz tasting cup from its foam insert. It looked like a beer stein with brass knuckles attached at either side. The loruri took it firmly, its three claw-like fingers flexing sinuously around the base. Then it dipped its neck.
       "Temperamental," it said, staring at the bow.
       I followed its gaze. My daughter had resumed her attempts at feeding the seagulls, but the birds weren't having any of it.
       "Christine, please." I waved at her to sit down, and she dropped into the padded bench with all the drama a ten-year-old could muster, arms folded, sandwich crushed defiantly between small fingers.
       "Sorry," I said to the loruri. "She wanted baloney, but I was told only to bring substances you were familiar with."
       "No, thank you, please," the loruri said, and I nodded. I wasn't a big fan of baloney either.
       I hopped back into the stern, but the loruri had already dipped the cup into the dark water and drawn it to the thin slit of its mouth.
       "We seek uniqueness. We don't need your metals, radioactives, or land. All of that is easily gotten out there." It waved one of its tiny arms at the sky in emphasis. "We desire the flavor of the Earth, its subtleties, its nuances."
       It sipped the ocean water, the big cup held to its mouth by both of its stubby interior arms.
       "The tang of phytoplankton mixes with silica, organic compounds with inorganic and man-made hydrocarbons. Sediment adds grit." It lowered the mug and turned its gaze on me. "Flavorful, but not as compelling as we had at first surmised."
       My hopes evaporated. I glanced at the shore. Highrise housing stretched past the barricades erected when the oceans had begun to rise. Revere Beach had once been a playground, with rides and amusements, a place people would flock to on a warm summer's day. Now, the crushing tide of humanity had overwhelmed it all. We needed the loruri to want something.
       "Please, try again," I said. "Maybe a little deeper, or a glass from the port side."
       I held my breath. The creature looked at me with those stormy green lidless eyes for what seemed like forever, and then dipped its neck as it held out the glass. "Yes, please, and thank you. You may draw this time."
       So much was resting on this. I exhaled loudly, and with trembling fingers I took the glass and dipped it into the water, swinging it up and into the loruri's inner hands as quickly as I could, as if I was afraid it would spoil. The alien grasped it carefully, almost reverently, as if it too knew what rested on its decision.
       The glass came up, sunlight sparkling like fire along its rim, murky saltwater swirling through the interior like the inside of a snow globe. A wedge of muddy white fluff circled the bottom. I recognized it too late.
       "Wait!" I shouted, but the loruri had already taken a drink.
       It froze, cup still tilted against its lipless mouth. I swallowed. I'd recognized a fragment of Christine's peanut butter sandwich in the bottom of the cup and cursed myself for not paying closer attention. That mistake had probably doomed humanity.
       I stared at my daughter as I waited for the loruri to spit out the water and pass judgment. What world had I just cursed her to?
       "Remarkable." The loruri glanced up, the cup empty in its tiny hands. It stumbled forward to stare at Christine. "We would never have thought of mixing two such disparate substances. Exquisite. Divine. Absolutely unique."
       It raised a long pincer arm, segmented joints clicking softly. "May I?"
       I moved to block my daughter from those wicked points, still unsure of the loruri's intentions, but she ducked under my arm, holding out the remains of the peanut butter sandwich.
       "Yes, please, and thank you," she said, her voice a playful imitation of the alien's tone.