Across the river, in White Salmon, population 2,196, the elevation of the Hood Riverians passed unnoticed. Invisible alien force fields saturated with advanced lighting effects gave White Salmon a clear blue sky, with no slow-rising flock of humanity to spoil the view.

The aliens knew who they wanted: Hood River and a handful of similar-sized towns around the world. The work of the gray men was almost done. All that remained were a few tests.

And, truth be told, the aliens were giddy. They'd waited a long time for this.

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The Hood Riverians found themselves in a large white space with vague boundaries. They wore what they usually wore at three minutes past eleven on a Tuesday morning, most dressed in the rather casual style of Hood River. Some were in sweats, or pajamas, or both.

Leo Bennet, owner of Leo's Fine Tune over on Sherman Ave, was buck naked.

Marlie Parker, who ran the hardware store with her husband Merle, rushed over, shrugging off her navy blue calf-length trench coat, and tossed it over Leo's shoulders, buttoning it tight across his somewhat larger frame. She patted him on the shoulder. "Happens all the time," she said.

Brandon, the assistant mayor, wore his usual gray suit with pale red tie, about fifteen years out of style. He held up his hand. "Folks, folks. Let's not panic."

No one had been panicking, but now that someone mentioned it, panicking seemed like a fine idea. Voices rose. Someone began to sob. Another demanded to see management. A dog barked enthusiastically.

"Maps is broken," someone said of their device.

"Mine's bricked. I can't even take a vid."

"Even text isn't happening."

"Aliens!" said Leo Bennet loudly to no one in particular, raising his arms stiffly in Marlie's coat. "And you didn't believe me!"

It was common knowledge that when it came to bike repair, Leo's Fine Tune was the best shop in town, as long as you didn't have to talk to Leo, who was off his rocker.

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