Kyle had only seconds to make a decision, and he decided. The alien had sought him out specifically, and it must have a reason. He had to trust that it was a qualified judge of its own medical condition.
He carried the exhausted alien deep into the woods, walking always toward his flame-cast shadow, until the blaze ceased to light his way. Striding alone back toward the fire, he snapped occasional branches to discreetly mark the path. He made another trip with the bags of supplies.
The alien hidden, he walked parallel to the edge of the trees for a while, before switching his flashlight back on to emerge from the woods near the wreck. He called out a greeting to the rescue team that was scampering down the slope. The roar of a second spacecraft landing drowned out what could have been awkward questions.
Two F'thk emerged, shutting the airlock behind them. F'thk were difficult enough to tell apart in good lighting, as far as Kyle could tell differing only in slight variations of skin tone. He had no idea whether he'd met either in his days on the commission. The new alien's warning fresh in his mind, Kyle did nothing now to call attention to himself.
Easily seven feet tall, the F'thk towered over the human emergency squad. Both stood closer to the flame than the humans, even the protectively suited firefighters directing sprays of foam from canisters lugged over the ridge.
"How many were on board?" asked a firewoman.
"One." The F'thk who spoke did not directly face the wreck or the woman he answered. It wasn't being impolite—that was the F'thk way.
It's only a movie, the exhausted alien had said. A hallucination, surely—but if it were true, what a view the F'thk had. Behind Kyle, someone whispered, "It smells like burnt meat. I don't think the pilot made it out."
The F'thk also had acute hearing. "We will soon know," said one. Eventually the other added, "A terrible mistake. This lifeboat was ejected accidentally during routine maintenance."
Implausible on its face, but not impossible—like so much about the F'thk. Of course Kyle knew something the F'thk didn't know he knew: about the injured Galactic hiding in the woods.
Under a sea of foam, the fire flickered out. A F'thk clambered aboard, charred wreckage crunching beneath his hooves. The firefighters exchanged glances: it was still very hot in there. They did not take into account its full-circle vision. "Do not be concerned. My kind are very heat-tolerant for short periods."
Several rescuers shone flashlights through the open hatches. Much of the cabin had been burnt beyond recognition. A shapeless, incinerated mass was still belted into what looked like an acceleration couch. The seats were far too small, and of the wrong shape, for F'thk. "Crispy critter," someone muttered.
The F'thk on the still smoldering lifeboat removed the presumed charred remains of his missing fellow. If it or its companion mourned his/her/its death, they kept those sentiments to themselves.
Then, as quickly as the F'thk had arrived, they were gone.