Baseball 6

I awake feeling stiff, been immobilized, probably so I don't roll around, injure myself further.
A hexagon shape door slides open, in walk two Aliens, green, three feet high, a man and a woman.
The man starts, in English, with a mechanical voice that probably means he's using a translator, "you are Quentin Mullaly, baseball player?"
"Yes."
"I am Lieutenant Xar, translation and research specialist. This is our Chief Medical Officer Colonel Xav."
I nod toward her.
He continues, "may I call you Quentin?"
"Sure."
"This translation program is good with nuance, but not 100% reliable. If I should happen to say anything which offends, it is not my intent. Please do not be angry, merely ask me to clarify."
"Ok."
"Quentin, the basics about us. Our planet is so far advanced, we need not fear for our safety. No other force dares to attack one of our research ships. Also intergalactic raiders never dare attack our home planet. We are here at Earth, but not for violent reasons. Our economists have abolished poverty. Even our most menial workers live in apartments of 3,500 square feet."
I gasp.
"Our medical researchers have abolished disease. Everyone lives a full lifespan, unless felled by alcoholism, drug abuse, bar violence or vehicle accident. Our workweek is fifteen of your Earthling hours. Even our poorest have ten times the discretionary income that one of your Earthling doctors has. So, what is your prediction of how our society will fare?"
"Lt, take away the struggle factor in life, I'm guessing your people fall prey to addictions. Probably at higher rates than Earthlings do."
"Exactly, you are an astute observer. That is what our space program is all about. We seek further knowledge about art, music, literature, cinema, sport, architecture, history, home decoration, philosphy. Anything at all where we can take ideas home. If people do not spend free time on worthy pursuits, we-ell."
I chuckle.
"You my friend will be our honored guest for a while, until we are sure of your medical conditon, at which point you will return home. No harm will be done to you. I would ask for your assistance. You see, I need information on sports towards my PhD thesis. Would you be so kind as to help?"
"I'd be honored, ask anything you like."
"You and I will talk privately, later. You know how women are about sports."
I laugh and he joins in.
"And now, I turn you over to the boss, CMO Xav."
She has a kind look. I instantly like her.
"May I call you Quentin?"
"Yes ma'am."
"We have strict rules of non-intervention. We must not interfere in the doings of Earthlings, no matter how bizarre. If one shoots another, sad that people are so primitive, but beyond our authority to act. What you saw in the parking lot was not an attempt to bomb the man's car. He is famous, of considerable interest to our researchers and we wished to eavesdrop on his conversations. We must not however endanger any Earthlings in our operations. According to intergalactic treaty they are an endangered species. So, your death would have been our fault. He was shooting at us, not you. Had we not been there, he would not have shot you. We had a legal and moral obligation to save your life."
"Thank you ma'am."
"Don't thank me just yet. You might be less than happy with the results. Your original body is no more, totally beyond any repair, even by our advanced techiques. We had to scramble fast to find a new host for you, someone who had died in the last thirty of your Earthling seconds."
"Why ma'am? I've heard of people being clinically dead for minutes. It would give you a wider selection."
Gentle smile, "you are of course referring to the person going back into the same body. Suppose we placed you in the body of someone dead five minutes. You would have good physical health, or at least as good as they had. But you might have to learn a new language, new job skills. By getting a freshly dead body, you benefit bigtime. You keep all of your memories, get the skills of the other person too."
"But ma'am, meaning no disrespect, I don't feel any different, don't pick up anyone else's vibes or thoughts, just me."
"The other person is in shock, retreated to a dark corner of the mind. Always happens, in a few days that person will emerge."
I feel uneasy, "and ma'am, you mean try to take over, don't you?"
"Look at the bright side. Is that not preferable to being a dead body in a parking lot?"
By now I'm not so sure, "who is this person ma'am?"
"We ran a quick psy profile on you, discovered you to be non-racial. I would assume you could cope with being a westernized Afghan. You wouldn't kill yourself merely because you are no longer white."
"I could do that. High school baseball, one of my best buddies was Afghan."
"Excellent, just one minor problem. There was not a male body available."
"N-not a?"
She holds a mirror in front of my face and I'm screaming. She takes my hand in hers. I feel a flow of energy, not sex, a calming influence. After probably five minutes of this, I'm back to rationality, "ah sorry ma'am, didn't mean to bite your head off, you certainly did your best for me."
She smiles gently, "it's a perfectly normal reaction. You and I will talk privately later, I'll clue you in how to handle all this. Now, just rest, you've been through a lot."
The Lt and I are instant friends, spend many days talking of sport, on Earth and his planet.
Gradually I understand the process. They're giving me the easy part first, build my confidence, get me in a better mood. The dread will come later.
He has a collection of sports vids which I run for him in slow motion, sometimes freezing frames. I can then explain the significance of moves to him. He just cannot thank me enough for my assistance.