We went speeding past the startled pedestrian at about fifty miles an hour, through a red light, then turned right from the left lane onto the on-ramp to the Pasadena Freeway.  The speedometer hit seventy before we were even on the freeway itself, swerving through traffic.  I hadn’t yet had a chance to catch my breath before I found myself screaming, “No! No freeway!  I didn’t tell you to get on the freeway.  Get off!” 

“Now?” came the inquisitive reply. 

“No!”  Arkads were just too literal, I reminded myself.  “The next off-ramp...and slow down!”

Our speed suddenly dropped to forty, resulting in the sound of screeching tires and honking horns from all around us. 

“Not that much.”  

To my surprise, the Arkad neatly matched the speed of neighboring traffic, then made a neat exit at the next off-ramp.  I instructed it to pull over into the parking lot of an In-n-Out Burger, and stop the car. 

“Look,” I said, trying not to sound mean or prejudicial, “I don’t think you’re ready to take the driver’s test.  Maybe you need some more lessons.” 

“That is what you said last time.”  Distrust, and impatience, was clear in the Arkad’s voice, even through the translation device affixed to its scaly throat.  “I am only mimicking the human drivers on the road.  You can not say I am any worse than they.”

That much was true.  This semi-humanoid, amphibious alien wasn’t any worse than that sixteen-year-old from Newport Beach last summer who submarined his father’s BMW beneath a tractor trailer...coming within inches of decapitating the two of us. 

The Arkad took my silence as some sort of insult.  “You simply do not like Arkads.  You wish us to fail.” 

“I didn’t say that!”  My protest was probably a little too strident.  I’m not really sure how I felt about the Arkads, like a lot of people I supposed.  They were an unobtrusive bunch, having colonized our oceans rather than fight humans for the land.  They were happier in the water anyway. 

I unfastened my seat belt and turned to the alien.  “Look, I just think this whole thing is silly.  Why do you want to drive cars?” 

“Because humans drive cars.” 

“But you spend half of your life in the water!”  I pointed my thumb in the direction of the not-too-distant beach.  “Besides, you could just fly anywhere you wanted to go in those fancy little spaceships of yours.”  Aliens!  They travel hundreds of light years to get here and then decide their biggest goal is to successfully navigate California freeways.  “Your technology is beyond this.”  I gestured at the dashboard full of controls. 

"Humans drive cars,” the Arkad repeated stubbornly. 

I sighed, then flipped through the pages on my clipboard.  I pretended to be looking over my notes, but I was really searching for the Arkad’s name.  They weren’t identical, but they did look similar enough to one another that most humans couldn’t tell them apart, especially me.  Obviously, I had tested — and flunked — this one before, but the same could be said of at least a dozen others in the past two weeks.  My co-workers at the DMV loved to torment me by sending all the Arkads my way because, the day before the Arkads arrived on Earth, I had said, “Anything but another teenager please, anything,birds, gorillas, aliens with flippers...I don’t care!  No more teenagers!”  Well, the Arkads were aliens with flippers.  I guessed I deserved this.  

“Well, Omacre,” that was the Arkad’s name, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is worth our time.  I’ve got a lot of other...” I almost said ‘people,’ then changed it to, “lots of others to test.”  The Arkads were prolific, spawning a new generation every two years, which might not sound like much except that they became reproductively mature at the age of six.   I had at least ten more waiting for me at the DMV right now, probably multiplying there in the water fountain or something....

“No,” Omacre said.  “You will let me take the complete test.” 

I pointed to my notes.  “This will be your third try, Omacre.  If you fail, you won’t get to try again for more than a year.”  I tried to sound gentle. 

“If I fail, I will never get to try again.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Omacre didn’t answer the question.  It turned two of its four eyestalks toward me.  “Continue?”  It reached two flippers for the steering wheel; tiny web-like cilia wrapped themselves around the leather padding.  The cilia looked as fragile as the flimsy tentacles of a jellyfish, but they were incredibly strong.  The gray tinge to its neck turned a bluish-purple.  

“Wait.  Are you all right?”  I’d encountered enough Arkads to know that such color changes weren’t usual.  They were a standard dull gray, like an old battleship.  I pointed to Omacre’s neck. 

I almost laughed when one of Omacre’s eyestalks bent down to examine itself...almost.  I’m not that insensitive.  I hope I’m not. 

“It is nothing.” 

There was also an unusual tone to the voice coming from the translator.  Programmed by humans, it had been designed to try to convey some emotional content to the words so humans and Arkads could better communicate; it did a fair job at it too.  I realized Omacre was embarrassed; the bluish-purple was similar to a human’s reddened blush response.  I also realized there were a lot of things I hadn’t bothered to learn about Omacre and the Arkads. 

I don’t know what Omacre saw in my face, but it seemed to know what I was thinking.  “What do you know of Arkads?” 

“Well, you come from Signus Prime—”

“Sirius Prime,” Omacre corrected. 

“Right.  Anyhow, you came here from Sirius Prime—”

“Signus Prime,” Omacre interrupted again. 

“Well, which is it?” 

“We originated on Sirius Prime.  Signus Prime was our last world.  It grew too hot and the oceans began to dry up.  It was time to find a new home.” 

“Right.  So you came here and found our ocean’s salinity to your liking.” 

“That is correct.  What else do you know about us?” 

“That you want to drive cars.” 

“Why do we want to drive cars?” 

I felt like I was in some sort of bizarre loop.  “Because we do.” 

“Correct.” 

“But that explains nothing!” I protested.  “Humans do a lot of things which aren’t necessarily a good idea.” 

“Still, we must assimilate.” 

“Huh?” 

This time, all four of Omacre’s eyestalks whipped around to fix upon me.  “We are judged by how well we assimilate into the native dominant culture.  It is prestige to us, honor, achievement, status.” 

“You mean, if you get a driver’s license, you’ll get respect from your people?”  That didn’t sound too different from American culture, I thought.  “There are other ways to earn respect.”  

“We must assimilate as completely as possible.”  Obviously, their amphibious nature prevented total assimilation.  

Resistance is futile, I heard running through my head.  “Still....”

Leaning closer to me, the perpetually bloodshot orbs at the end of the eyestalks blinked.  Omacre’s body didn’t move, just the eyestalks, hovering over me like those alien probes in an H.G. Wells’ novel.   I tried not to back up against the door, and tried not to think of those alien invasion movies I grew up on as a kid in Palmdale. 

“I am what you would call a chief or clan leader of my pod.  I have already earned my prestige, and I must continue to earn it.  This means I must do what your most powerful leaders do, and even your president knows how to drive a car.” 

I personally had doubts as to whether that moron in the White House could drive a car, but that was beside the point.  “Oh.”  Now I understood.  “You would lose your position...get demoted.” 

“My podmates would eat me,” Omacre said matter-of-factly. 

I blinked at those bloodshot orbs; they didn’t blink back.  That hungry feeling I’d been getting sitting here in the In-n-Out parking lot suddenly disappeared.  There was silence for several minutes until I cleared my throat; all the while those eyestalks hovered over me, swaying hypnotically.  “Well, Omacre, could you drive according to our laws, not according to the way you see Californians do?” 

“Of course, I have studied your little booklet.” 

“After you pass the test, then you can drive like everybody else.” 

“I understand.” 

I threw the clipboard into the back seat.  “Okay, flippers on the steering wheel.”  It put all its flippers on the steering wheel.  Literal! I reminded myself.  “No, those bottom flippers, reserve those for the brake and gas pedals.”  Omacre obeyed.  “Two eyestalks forward at all times; rotate the other two between the sides and back, okay?” 

“Roger-wilko.” 

“You’ve been watching t.v. haven’t you?” 

“Of course.  I look forward to driving like Starsky and Hutch.” 

“Warn me ahead of time so I can get off the road first.” 

“Can do.”  Omacre swiveled one eyestalk toward me.  “Click it or ticket?” 

I’d almost forgotten.  In a moment, my seatbelt was properly buckled.  Omacre started the car and headed for the drive-thru.  

Gripping a burger in a spare flipper, Omacre passed the test.