u/Maxton1811

First...Previous

Chapter 22
Harrison Varga, Captain of FIND

The landing was less graceful than I would have liked. Nothing disastrous; just some unnecessary turbulence that left Isla clinging to the side of her seat and Ian trying to maintain composure as his face steadily tinted green. Nevertheless, our landing was smooth at least. We were far enough from major population centers that hopefully nobody too important had noticed our arrival. 

“Pathogen compatibility just came back,” Lan said from behind me as we trekked through the temperate alien woodland. “Slightly lower than the Rosha world, but well within expected values. Helmets downgraded to moon-level priority.”

“And the soil samples?” Cora asked, brushing aside a low branch as it smacked against her shoulder.

Fiddling with the settings on his biosensor, Lan pulled up the composition and let out a light hum of surprise. “The dirt here is a lot more rich in certain elements than I’d expected—specifically sulfur, potassium, and nitrogen. If I had to guess, it's probably a feature of the planet’s crust. Either way, I’d say whoever lives here got lucky; it’s damn-near perfect for agriculture.”

“Good for them,” Ian replied, his tone stale and utterly uninterested as his eyes scanned our surroundings for any potential threats. “We have the new language tools, yes?”

I nodded, taking out my translator 2.0 alongside one of the new recording devices given to us. Their design looked odd even by human standards—like thick, oval-shaped cellphones with prominent speakers on their face. The weirdness was intentional, of course—designed by a team of psychologists and engineers alike to entice intelligent lifeforms into picking it up. “Once we get this into a local’s grasp, all we’ll have to do is wait a little while and we should have a working translation.”

“Assuming, of course, that they don’t just chuck it out,” Wayne noted, swiveling around with his full body so as to get a good bodycam view of the whole surrounding area. “Then it’s back to plan A: stalking.”

After another ten minutes of trudging through the greenery, we came upon a small clearing in the woods much like the one we had landed in. On the leftmost edge of the clearing, a sizable tree had fallen over, leaving behind its jagged stump. It was as good a place as any to leave the device. 

Carefully rounding the clearing’s edge to remain semi-concealed just in case, I slipped out from cover and placed the decoy on the stump, all of its settings in place. Immediately, it began to make sound—a low, synthesizer-like hum. Clearly artificial, but not threateningly so: just something to lure in whoever came close enough to hear it.

“Captain,” Ian’s voice rang out through the comms. “I hear rustling not far from here. Get back with us.”

Carefully navigating back to where the rest of the group was, I joined them behind a thicket of heavy brush, staring at the clearing as distant rustling gave way and three figures stepped into the light. 

The first unhelpful but comforting thing my brain did was try to sort the aliens into familiar Earth analogues. Reptile came first, then bird, then neither. They stood upright on powerful hind legs, each a little taller than a man, with long balancing tails and narrow heads on thick necks in a profile that reminded me of monitor lizards. Fine feather-filaments covered much of their visible bodies, thicker along the shoulders, spine, and tail. Their hands ended in dark claws, delicate enough to gesture with and presumably use tools, but still clearly dangerous enough that I was grateful for the distance between us. 

Either of the two smaller ones would have been intimidating on their own, each standing maybe at Ian’s height and dressed in something akin to medieval breastplates. One of these ones carried on their back what looked to be some kind of polearm, its axe-like edge tinted red by recent use. The third individual, however, made these ones look like attendants. I couldn’t get an exact height, but as they stepped into the clearing behind the other two, a branch that had been eye-level for me slapped them low across the ribs. A fine black tunic with golden seams festooned their massive body, covered partially by a shoulder-mounted cloak. Upon their chest, a holster inlaid with red gems carried a primitive, gold-plated gun—like an oversized flintlock. Glancing at Ian, I saw his gaze focused firmly upon that weapon.

“Holy shit…” Isla whispered, watching as the taller figure peered around, his forward-facing eyes eventually landing upon the tree stump where our decoy was left. “That person has to be at least eight feet tall.”

Lan glanced between this one and the smaller two, his biologist’s eyes taking in every detail. “The throat structure is different,” he noted, cocking his head like a curious terrier as possible explanations danced in his eyes. “Sexual dimorphism maybe? Perhaps some kind of gigantism?”

The larger figure pointed a claw at the decoy, rasping out something in a deep, reverberant alien tongue—words we would eventually have a translation for if everything went to plan. The smaller two glanced at each other and exchanged phrases before the one with the polearm handed it off to the other and approached the decoy. Drawing a scimitar-like blade from their belt, they poked the device once, then twice. When it didn’t react, they reached out and grabbed it.

The droning sound stopped.

For a few seconds, the alien (a soldier, I presumed) held the weapon out at arm’s length, as though still expecting it to harm them. When it didn’t, they brought it back to the other two and handed it off to the largest one. I’m not sure what I was supposed to feel seeing them take the bait. It almost seemed predatory, though our intentions here were purely peaceful. 

The three figures spent a few minutes conversing over the artifact they’d found. Every thirty seconds, the image on its face would switch, showing a mix of familiar things—forests, landscapes, buildings, tools—and unfamiliar sights unique to Earth. This was a feature intended to keep them talking and to guide their conversation. 

Eventually, the two smaller ones started to progress across the clearing—moving toward where we had come from. Carefully repositioning ourselves so as not to intercept with them, we all watched as the group passed us by on their way toward the shuttle.

Pulling up my navigation device and seeing that the group had fallen out of earshot, I pressed my finger to the side of my helmet and spoke to Alex back onboard FIND. “Alex. We’ve got a small patrol of aliens headed toward our landing spot. They might have noticed our arrival. I need you to reposition the shuttle.”

“Got it, Captain,” Alex’s voice came back, crackling somewhat with mild interference—which was to be expected given our position beneath the dense canopy. “Should I recall it for now?”

“Not unless the shuttle gets discovered,” I told him. “Just fly it low and find somewhere to park that’s a little bit further out of the way.”

Accessing the decoy’s camera from my translator, I saw that the device was still in their leader’s grasp as the three aliens trekked through the woods, all the while speaking quietly but well within the device’s decibel range. Lan, Isla, and Wyatts pulled out their own translation devices as well, accessing the same feed. After the near-disaster of the Rosha contact, SUN decided as per my request to give us a translator each.

“Let’s shadow them,” I spoke quietly into the comms, holstering my translator and instead keeping eyes on my navigation device. “We’ll keep our distance. Ideally line of sight, but no closer than fifty meters. I’d rather not have to greet these ones with three nouns and a prayer.”

“Good idea,” Wyatts responded. “I reviewed the Rosha bodycam footage, and if a weird voice in the woods ever told me ‘friend, no run,’ I’d have evacuated my entire skeleton.”

“Yeah,” Isla responded. “Let’s definitely try not to do that again this time. It’s unnecessarily frightening and at least one of these aliens has a gun.”

Creeping through the woods at close enough to occasionally spot the trio through the dense treeline but nevertheless far enough to make sure they couldn’t say the same, I continually glanced down at my navigator all the while, eventually sighing in relief as the dot representing our shuttle began to move further away. It was designed to run relatively silently, so we didn’t hear it from our position a few kilometers away. Nevertheless, as soon as the dot started moving, the three aliens immediately paused, their feathers standing on end. As the shuttle moved eastward, the tallest alien shifted their gaze to follow its rough direction before seemingly losing track of it as their head ceased rotating. I breathed a sigh of relief, though before the air had even finished exiting my mouth, relief had given way to confusion. “How did they track the ship’s movement like that?” I asked, looking to Lan for answers. 

“If I had to wager a guess,” began Parker, jabbing his finger at the creatures half-concealed by foliage and trees. “I’d say those feathers are measuring factors of the local atmosphere. Air pressure, wind speed maybe. Birds do something like it, but I’m not sure what would have necessitated that kind of adaptation here.”

“If they can feel the shuttle from kilometers out, why haven’t they noticed us?” Ian asked, glaring at the figures as though expecting them to turn and face us at that very moment.

Parker shook his head. “Can’t say. It might depend on disturbance size. The canopy breaks up the wind effectively, and our movements have been careful. The trait might be designed by evolution for open spaces. Maybe we should back up a little bit more just to be safe, though… What are your orders, captain?”

“We keep following them, just at a further distance,” I nodded, checking my translator. Little by little, the progress bar was crawling closer to ‘conversational’ territory. “Once our network hits fluency, we initiate contact.”

Continuing through the brush at a greater distance in hopes of not triggering these aliens’ heightened senses, little by little conversations between the small group were starting to piece together. Somehow, understanding half of what the group was saying made the scenario make less sense. 

“Prince Velas,” began one of the creatures, looking to the largest one as they said something else our translator still couldn’t fully parse—something to do with an armed conflict. Isla’s eyes widened as she saw that same translation pop up on her device. 

“That can’t be right…” I growled, fiddling with the translator controls for a minute or so to see if it had made some kind of mistake. After three resets, though, the word remained the same. “The hell would a prince be doing out in the middle of nowhere?”

Shortly thereafter, the forest began to thin out, and the three aliens stepped into more open territory. There, a dozen more of their species awaited them. Immediately, as if to spit in the face of my intuition, most of these new aliens bowed down before the tall one we’d been trailing. As they stood back up, the Prince showed them our decoy. For the next twenty minutes, they passed it around and examined it, conversing all the while—a course of action that contributed heavily to the translation network.

“My Prince,” one of the new individuals began, handing the prince back our decoy. “I am afraid something has gone badly with Istol’s diplomatic envoys. The loss of our local bastard royals has emboldened bandits. They attacked the diplomats on the road. We are sheltering them in the next township, but it would be a poor showing to allow such insolence to stand.”

Velas looked off into the distance before eventually looking at one of the aliens who’d been with him. “Serat. Retrieve my royal plate.”

---------------------------------------------

Hi, everyone. Thank you all so much for keeping up with this story. As always, if you're enjoying this and want to see more, please upvote and leave a comment. I love interacting with everyone through comments and I do read them all. Thanks again and I'll see you next time!

First...Previous

Chapter 21
Serat, Royal Retainer to Prince Velas of Arbine

The morning was overcast, wet-edged, and blowing from the northeast at twelve measures per breath. Low pressure pressed softly against the filaments along my three-chambered throat. A shot weighing one bead taken at sixty paces would land two paces right of point. It was good hunting weather—assuming, of course, that one knew how to respect it. For those who mistook reckless courage for aim, it was a day where they would return empty-handed.

That was not to be the fate of my company. We had been at war with the Republic of Istol for four years now over access to the southern mineral flats. We were winning, of course, owing to our legions unmatched in warfare and our well-bred royal leadership. However, with the conflict dragging on, our High Council with royal approval moved to negotiate an agreement. Istol’s diplomats would be arriving tonight, and it was customary to hunt a vakta beast fresh for important negotiations. 

“The local huntsman informed me that they graze just beyond this stretch of woodland, my liege,” I informed Prince Velas, turning to look up at him directly as he trekked behind us. His heavily-feathered tail swished back and forth with each heavy step, leaving behind a serpentine pattern in the early winter frost. 

The prince offered no reply, following behind us in silence. Velas was a man of few words, though when he did elect to speak, it was as though a mountain were stating its intentions. Arbinian royalty were often plagued by illness later in life, but those in their prime like Velas were a sight to behold. He stood nearly a third again my height, broad enough that two common Tavren could walk in his shadow without touching feathers. His arms were thick and sturdy like the eldest branches of a great vithil tree, whilst his legs were larger still like young trunks, each of his limbs layered with the dense strength of a body bred not for comfort, but consequence. Beneath the heavy plume of his neck, where my own throat divided into three neatly-folded sacs, his formed a single deep swell that rose and fell with each slow breath. Tucked into a gem-studded chest holster on his royal finery sat a large, gold-plated flintlock—a ceremonial pittance compared to his true battlefield might.

In the midst of admiring my liege, I was unaware as a branch caught hold of my foot, very nearly forcing me to my knees as I stumbled forward and caught myself. 

“Take greater care,” Prince Velas insisted, his voice deep and scratchy, lightly worn from years of royal purpose yet tinged with just the slightest hint of fondness as he spoke. “Now is not the day for distraction.” 

“Yes, my lord,” I nodded, offering Velas a curt bow before returning my full attention to the path ahead. Some of the retainers glared at me as I reassumed my position at the front of the formation. 

“Do you believe Istol will accept our peace proposal?” Asked Ryle, another of Velas’ retainers and my comrade in arms. “I, for one, am unconvinced. They have wasted countless shots in their bid to secure that land.” Riding atop our draft darow, he jostled the reins attached to its tusks, gently reminding the animal to keep pace.

“Peace is worth the attempt, at least,” Olt concluded beside him. “Two of our Royals and dozens of Bastards have already died warring over that dirt—it would be wasteful to risk more of the great bloodline.” On her back, she carried Velas’ poleaxe, which visibly weighed her down. Attempting to carry the thing in my hands reminded me of when I was but a hatchling in my father’s carpentry workshop, bringing him tools too heavy for me to properly use. Royal weapons were all like that—forged by Arbine’s finest smiths for the immaculate musculature of their wielders. 

After another sunradian spent trekking through the forest, the first signs of our quarry began to appear: depressions in the grass where something large had laid down, trunks with bark stripped off by itching, and a large pile of beast dung half-concealed amidst broken branches and long-fallen leaves. At that point, our conversation ceased so as not to frighten away the quarry.

Moving past trees until the screen of trunks could no longer conceal the clearing ahead of us, I stopped in my tracks and raised a claw to signal for the others to follow suit. There was movement out in the open. Slowly stalking closer, at last we came upon the vakta beast, grazing upon wild tubers. Each time I saw one in the wild, I was reminded anew of how massive they were. Vakta beasts could not stand upright, and even still the creature could comfortably look me in the eye. Its skull was wide, its snout and forehead framed by horns. Thick, reddish fur covered its body, concealing the animal’s larger bulk beneath it.

Glancing around the clearing in search of any sign of other beasts, it was apparent that this one was alone, making it optimal prey for the diplomatic feast to come. Nodding to my fellow retainers, the seven of us carefully arranged ourselves in a line at the clearing’s edge as the animal turned its back. Prince Velas remained behind us, watching in silence. His royal shot was not something to be wasted on meat.

The wind and air pressure sang to my senses as by instinct I calibrated the shot, feeling the first of my throat chambers swell up in preparation. Lowering my jaw and folding my teeth into my gums, I carefully smoothed my tongue over the opening beneath it to secure the bead in place. On either side of me, the others did the same. 

As leader of the unit, I was to be the first shot. Clicking together the plates of bone within the prepared throat sac, soon enough a spark fell from them and ignited the powder within my throat pouch. Black smoke exited my mouth in a thick cloud as the bead was launched sixty paces, landing square in the side of the animal as it turned to regard the noise. 

Six more shots rang out in chorus as the vakta beast let out an agonized cry. Massaging the used throat pouch, I quickly prepared the second and loaded another bead into place. The second volley rang out five falls later, just as the animal began its blind retreat into the woods.

We found our quarry again three hundred odd paces past the clearing and beyond a large field of tall brush, lying in pain with a lung punctured from one of our beads. Calmly stepping forth, my prince placed a gentle claw upon the animal’s neck, then drew the pistol from his chest holster and ended our hunt with a shot between its eyes.

Tying the rope around our quarry’s legs and attaching it to our darow’s saddle, Ryle patted our draft animal’s rear to signal for it to start moving. Three steps later, though, it froze. Back in the clearing where we had first shot the beast, the largest arrel I’d ever seen sniffed at the ground before turning to face us, its slit-eyed pupils widening as its mouth opened in a low, intimidating growl. Arrel weren’t exactly fat animals—mostly just being lean muscle. Even still, this one looked thinner than those I’d seen used by Istol as war beasts. Wild arrel usually ran from Tavren, but this one instead stalked closer, no doubt drawn by the vakta beast in our possession.

Olt stepped forward, opening her mouth and firing a shot above the creature’s head, intending to scare it off. However, the animal was not deterred. It rushed forth into the brush between us, concealing its approach. Volvera and Ryle fired their shots into the brush, but without a clear visual neither seemed to find purchase. It always pained me to fire my third shot—it meant that for the next two days I’d be without the emergency weapon all Tavren relied upon. However, arrel beasts were not to be trifled with up close. Firing into the brush, I heard a yelp, suggesting that I’d struck it. However, the rustling continued to get closer. As the rest of us began to back up, Prince Velas gently plucked his poleaxe from Olt’s back and braced it between his claws. 

Less than a fall later, the animal burst forth from the brush, leaving me enough time to peer into its open mouth as it lunged. 

Then, Velas was between us, the haft of his poleaxe braced across its jaws. 

The arrel was even bigger up close than it had appeared from afar, easily weighing hundreds of royal bead—enough that had it pinned me, I have little doubt my death would have been swift and brutal. Such a creature could easily maul any normal Tavren and probably most Bastard Royals as well. Fortunately for us, Prince Velas was of exemplary blood. Twisting his weapon to force the beast onto its side, Velas caught a claw to the ribs as it rebounded and tackled him to the ground. 

The grapple lasted only a few seconds. Beside me, the retainers who still had shots in their throats unloaded them into the animal, which caused it to recoil just enough to grant Velas the upper hand as he shoved the beast off of him and brought forth his poleaxe for a killing blow.

No sound left the arrel’s throat as it died, nearly beheaded by the sheer force of Velas’ strike. My lord huffed ambivalently as he tore the blade from its neck. “We will bring this back too,” he concluded. “Its meat should at least feed someone.”

None of us dared argue, though with our darow responsible for hauling the main prize, it was Velas himself who began to drag it along despite our offers of assistance.

We were perhaps a thousand paces from the main road when above us, the pressure dropped wrong. Not with storm nor with any wind Kholas had taught my throat to understand. Every filament along my neck lifted at once as my eyes along with those of everyone present went skyward.

For half a fall, I mistook the thing in the sky for a bird. But very quickly that explanation ceased to make sense. Once I’d seen it for more than a passing glance, I could tell it was higher up than any bird I’d ever seen fly. At that height, to be as visible as it was, whatever was flying above us had to be larger than any bird as well. 

The eight of us watched, transfixed, as the object glided through the air, leaving behind a deep white line of cloud like a scar in the sky as it suddenly became still over a patch of forest less than a sunradian’s walk from our position.

Velas stared at the strange thing as it lowered itself with nonsensical precision below the treeline. Finally, he handed off the rope. “Renadi, Volvera, and Itzer: return with the meat. Ryle and Haber, make for the crown road. There should be a patrol nearby who can join up with us.” At last, his commanding gaze fell upon me. “Serat and Olt, you two are with me. We will take measure of the disturbance. If fate has sent a crosswind, we must measure before it moves the shot.”

With that command, Olt and I followed our lord deeper into the forest to investigate the impossible thing from the sky.

--------------------------------------------------------

Hi, everyone. Introducing the third species: the Tavren! Very excited to hear everyone's thoughts! As always don't forget to comment your thoughts. I absolutely love hearing them. And if you have any questions regarding this species or the previous ones, don't hesitate to ask! Again, thank you for reading

First...Previous

Chapter 20
Harrison Varga, Captain of FIND

Two months into FIND’s third deployment, and for the first time since the Rosha, it seemed like the galaxy was actually starting to make sense. Of the five planets we surveyed, two were barren rocks unsuitable for anything save perhaps a small base like we had on Mars. The three others had active biospheres and no signs of intelligent life, though one of them had arsenic as an important building block of its lifeforms—something that visibly thrilled Lan and made the rest of us grateful for our environmental suits.

“Next stop,” Alex began, triple-checking his calculations before confirming them with the ship’s safety values. “The Kepler-62 system.”

“Bets on this one?” Ian asked, glancing to either side of him, where Cora sat at attention and Parker lounged. “I’m putting down twenty American dollars on it being barren.”

Lan regarded the security officer with an unsure expression before settling into a smirk. “I’ll match you: twenty on there being life on Kepler-62f.”

“I don’t like to gamble,” Alex sighed, flicking a few switches above his head that in all honesty I only vaguely understood the purpose of. “I think it’ll probably be empty, but I’m not about to put any money on it.”

Cora shook her head. “Tell you what, Ian,” she said. “I’ve got a pretty good feeling about this one. Eight is my lucky number, so I’ll bet you double: not just that there’s life here, but that this is going to be civilization number three.”

Mozorov narrowed his eyes at Cora like you do to decipher a bluff in poker—only here none of us had any way to actually see the cards. “Deal,” he concluded at last, reaching out his hand and shaking hers.

At this point, betting between myself and members of my crew had become more symbolic than anything. With living expenses paid for on board the ship, our salaries were piling up pretty much in full back on Earth. I had a sneaking suspicion that most of the IOU’s spoken into being onboard this vessel wouldn’t actually end up being cashed in any form except maybe drinks between deployments. 

FIND’s hull rattled and shook as it zipped through the wormhole to Kepler-62, spitting us out into open space hundreds of lightyears from home—not that anyone could tell just by looking at the exterior cameras on our monitors. Space is, and this is a little known fact, mostly just… Well… Space. Every star, planet, moon, and black hole in the Milky Way comprised less than a rounding error’s worth of its volume. 

Minutes later, Lan and Wyatts were pulling up preliminary readings from the candidate planet. “We’re looking at an average surface temperature a few degrees colder than Earth,” Wyatts began as our computer displayed a preliminary snapshot of the celestial body in question. “Atmospheric comp readings are spitting out strong signs of a highly active biosphere.”

“Any signs of civilization?” Cora asked.

Typing in more commands, Lan’s eyes flitted across his screen before eventually landing on one anomaly in particular. Zooming in on the image and enhancing it to the best of his abilities, he leaned back to give us all an opportunity to see for ourselves.

“Well isn’t that something?” Ian half-chuckled, more amused than upset with his clear loss. What we were seeing was definitely a city—and quite a large one, at that. Roads stretched for miles like wheel spokes radiating from a behemoth central structure; a massive pyramid of polished black stone that stood out against the surrounding greenery less like a sore thumb and more like a crown’s defining jewel. 

Isla, who had previously been half-asleep in her seat, sat up straight. “Looks like great minds really do think alike…” she remarked wryly. “If the topographical readings are correct, then that structure is over 180 meters high—taller than the ones in Giza.”

Parker’s lips thinned as he pulled up another series of readings, offering a contemplative hum. “That’s odd…” He began—my two least favorite words when hovering over an unfamiliar, clearly-inhabited planet.

“What is it?” I demanded, not particularly loving the uncertainty in his voice.

“Everything about these readings is consistent with a medieval civilization,” he began before jabbing his pointer finger at one overlay in particular. “Everything but the atmospheric readings. I’m getting signs of higher pollution near anomaly points normally consistent with industry or heavy use of firearms.”

“What kind of pollution?” Cora asked, cocking her head as she leaned over to get a look at Lan’s screen.

“Mostly sulfur compounds,” concluded Lan. “The composition is consistent with early black powder usage, but the concentration is higher than a pre-industrial civilization should have.”

Thirty hours later, once the planet had completed a full rotation, we gathered again on the bridge to take a look at the planet in all its glory. “Most of the land surface seems to be populated,” Lan said, staring at the readings from our upgraded sensor array. “That pyramid appears to be a unique structure—nothing else like it on the planet’s surface as far as our sensors can tell—which makes sense given how much time and manpower it must have taken to build.”

“It is highly likely that that city is some kind of capital,” Isla told us, tapping on another, smaller anomaly just south of it. “We should land closer to here. It's got a large enough rural area that we can build the translation algorithm without drawing too much attention.”

Wyatts nodded. “We got lucky with this jump—we’re only six days out. I plan on coming with you guys for this one. I already missed out on the Rosha, and I’d like to see some aliens firsthand.”

With nearly a week before we’d be making contact on the ground, all that remained for most of us was to keep ourselves busy on the approach. We played card games and tabletops, watched movies, and otherwise sought out whatever we could to fill in the free hours when none of us were doing maintenance. 

Each ‘day’, Alex or Wyatts would come back to tell us what more data our approach had revealed, though in this particular case there wasn’t much information beyond the immediate. We detected no radio signals, no aircraft contrails, and nothing even remotely suggesting a functional power grid. 

“You think the Rosha are going to be okay?” Cora asked the night prior to our arrival, calmly placing a playing card atop the pile. “SUN promised no colonialism, but this is going to be the first real test of whether it can actually hold up its word when it comes to interstellar policy.”

“If I’m honest,” Lan sighed, placing the exact card he needed to make my next turn hell. “I’m actually more worried about the Arazi. The Rosha are cute and communal—anyone who messes with them is going to get an earful from activists on Earth. Meanwhile, some ‘advocacy groups’ on Earth are already saying we should invade the Arazi to liberate their hosts.”

I shook my head. “Best to keep our sights looking forward,” I concluded. “Our job is to make initial contact and report back. The better we do our job, the more accurate the public image gets.”

“I hope accuracy is enough to keep things from getting out of hand,” Isla cut in. She retired to her quarters after that round, joined by Ian and Wayne.

I barely slept that night—I got the feeling that was going to become something of a pattern with inhabited worlds. We knew to a reasonable degree of certainty that someone was down there. The question remained of who they were and what information we’d be bringing back to Earth with us. 

After tossing and turning for a few hours and maybe accidentally getting some sleep, I poured two cups of coffee and went to the bridge where Alex was piloting. “I thought everyone was asleep,” he remarked, accepting the mug I offered him and taking a sip. “Four hours to arrival,” he concluded. “What do you think you’re going to find down there?”

“That’s the fun part,” I began, easing down into my seat with a groan as apparently my spine decided today was a good time to file a complaint. “I don’t have a clue.”

With each hour that followed, more of the crew filed onto the bridge. Parker and Cora speculated aloud on what we might find as Ian watched the screen with cold eyes and Wyatts made small talk with Isla.

“We’ll be in range to land in twenty minutes,” Alex said. “You’d all better go suit up.”

“Agreed,” I said, heading for the ladder that led down from the bridge to the shuttle bay. “Let’s get a move on, people! Wyatts; prep the shuttle. You’ll be bringing us down.”

Wayne chuckled to himself before responding. “Good news for you, captain: bringing other people down is my strong suit!”

After some minor maintenance on the shuttle, Wayne climbed in beside me and, with the rest of the landing crew securely inside, he signaled for Alex to open the airlock.

With the shuttle bay’s atmosphere already sucked back into a storage tank, the opening of its airlock into the upper atmosphere of Kepler-62f was much smoother than one might expect. Looking out over the looming planet, it reminded me of my days back in the New Peacekeepers, when for a good quarter of my service record I piloted a high-atmospheric jet.

The planet itself was bigger than Earth by a decent margin, with a surface about as waterlogged as our own planet. NASA (rest in peace) had discovered this planet way back in 2013, and nearly eighty years later here we were, about to actually set foot on it.

As the atmosphere grew thicker, our shuttle rattled and shook just as it had when bringing us down to Althiir, as though the inanimate vessel itself were overwhelmed with excitement at what we were about to find.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello, everyone. Sorry for the long wait and slightly shorter chapter. I've been working all week and haven't had as much time to write. As for length, I felt that this one should be shorter so I could jump right into the net chapter, which will be another alien on the ground's perspective. As always, thank you all so much for reading and please leave a comment on your thoughts if you want to see more. I love reading comments and engaging with them. If you have any questions about the prior species or the setting, feel free to comment those as well so I can answer them.

First...Previous

Chapter 19
Mary Algers, Journalist for The Atlas Review

Returning to the office the next day, I bypassed my usual work desk and instead made my way over to the soundproofed room reserved for video broadcasts. My boss had been nice enough to reserve it for the interview—which was the least he could do after deciding my attempt at nuance needed a live comment section. Hopefully, Lan’s firsthand experience would be sufficient to help facts catch up with the brewing panic before it got even further out of hand. 

Adjusting the computer’s camera and calibrating the mic sensitivity, I took a deep breath before starting the livestream, which already had four million waiting in the lobby. “Hello, everyone,” I smiled pleasantly, trying my best to seem unbothered by the circumstances. “Today we’re joined by Doctor Parker Lan, xenobiologist and medical officer aboard the FIND. He will be logging on momentarily to answer a few of my questions and to address public controversy around the Arazi and their relationship with the Coltak. After that, we will be taking questions from you, the audience.”

While waiting for Lan to accept the call, I allowed my eyes to flicker toward the unmoderated chat feed scrolling beside the preview window. Even with half our audience team filtering out slurs, spam, and the usual people trying to sell miracle supplements, relevant questions flew by too quickly for me to properly read.

Can they infect humans?

Are the Coltak conscious while it happens?

Why is SUN calling brain worms a civilization?

Ask him if ‘virtually zero’ means zero.

THE ARAZI ARE PEOPLE STOP BEING WEIRD ABOUT THIS!

If they’re people, do they have a right to reproduce?

#FreeTheColtak

No parasites on Earth. Period.

I read just enough to make my stomach tighten, then dragged my gaze back to the camera and reminded myself that the entire point of the interview was to keep the conversation from drowning itself.

Seconds later, a brief chime sounded out on my computer as Parker Lan’s face appeared onscreen. His hair had been combed, but only in the technical sense that something had clearly passed through it once before giving up. He wore a t-shirt with the logo of a popular movie series on it, and steaming beside him was a mug of coffee bearing the symbol of SUN.

“Doctor Lan,” I began, smiling with what I hoped looked like professional steadiness rather than desperation. “Thank you again for agreeing to join us today.”

Parker nodded, sipping briefly from his mug as questions and exclamations fired rapidly from the chat. “Happy to be here,” he replied, sounding shockingly sincere. “I understand that FIND’s recent exploration has led to much global attention—most of it negative—so I’m here to help clear up any misconceptions I can.”

“I wanted to start by clarifying something that was said in the public information release regarding the Arazi,” I began. “It was stated there that the risk of infection is ‘virtually zero’. Can you as a xenobiologist clarify what that means?”

Lan straightened, as though only just then feeling the millions of eyes upon him. Quickly reorienting himself, he smiled like a tired professor. “I looked over the diagrams of the Arazi worm myself,” he explained. “In order to link with a Coltak, there are at least three neural structures needed which we Humans simply do not possess. There is a chance they could induce some negative effects such as allergic reactions, but I can say with a high degree of certainty that the worm is no more likely to jump species to us than Ophiocordyceps unilateralis—the famous ant-hijacking fungus—is to infect a Human, which is to say practically impossible.”

Against my better judgment, I once again glanced toward the chat to gauge reactions from my audience.

THANK YOU. HOST SPECIFIC MEANS HOST SPECIFIC!

“Practically impossible” is NOT the same as impossible. Ask better questions

Okay, but if it can’t infect Humans, then why are people hoarding bottled water? Checkmate.

He’s dodging. Ask if SUN has samples.

Thank you, Doctor. That was literally all I needed to hear.

The answer did help—that is, in the same way as a single bucket of water technically helps against a forest fire. 

“That is reassuring to hear,” I smiled, quickly typing a note for the moderators to clip that response for later. “Of course, a lot of others are concerned regarding the larger question of personhood. What do you have to say about such debates?”

Lan sighed like it was a question he had been dreading having to answer with his name attached. “I think the first thing we need to do is separate biological classification from moral judgment,” he said at last. “The Arazi are parasites—that is a factual statement about their lifecycle. They are also people. That is a factual statement about their cognition. They use language, practice science, maintain law, and study the universe just like we do. The fact that their personhood arises through a process we find disturbing does not negate that personhood. The Rosha are charming and therefore comparatively easy to respond to ethically. However, if we deny moral consideration to the Arazi, then we don’t have standards: we have aesthetics.”

PERSONHOOD IS NOT AESTHETICS!

Easy for him to say, he’s not a Coltak.

“They are also people” THANK YOU

He admitted that they’re parasites.

Ask about the Coltak. Don’t let him dodge.

First sane thing anyone has said all day.

Moral consideration for the brain worms but not the animals they erase? Lol okay.

Little by little, it seemed that ignorance was being forcibly dragged into the light. The question remained, however, of what they would actually see in that light.

“Let’s talk about the harder part,” I began. “If the Arazi are people, then what about the Coltak?”

Parker went quiet for a moment, and that silence did more to sober the chat than any moderator could have. “The Coltak matter,” he affirmed at last. “I want to be very clear about that. However, based on all of our current evidence, they do not appear to be sapient in the way Humans, Rosha, or Arazi are. We have no evidence of language, abstract symbolic reasoning, law, or science among them. But that does not make them objects. They are socially complex animals with preferences, bonds, and individual behavior. For what it is worth, the Arazi themselves do not appear to treat the Coltak casually. Modern Coltak are kept in large sanctuaries and cared for until they are selected for what the Arazi call awakening—a process that, as far as we can tell, ends the continuity of the original Coltak mind. While I understand and sympathize with the public’s discomfort, I do not personally believe horror alone affords us the right to intervene in something so central to their civilization.”

Horror is absolutely a reason to intervene actually???

So he admits awakening kills them.

Finally someone treating this like an ethics question and not a monster movie.

Stop sanitizing this. They are hosts.

Everyone wants a simple villain so badly.

Watching the chat felt like looking on as a crowd argued over a shape none of them could fully see. Every comment seemed to grab one true piece of Lan’s words only to sharpen it into a weapon. All of them seemed desperate to find the one lynchpin sentence that would let them stop thinking and start making slogans.

“Then allow me to ask the question plainly,” I said, feeling the shape of it turn ugly in my mouth before I even finished setting it up. “If Arazi reproduction requires the end of a Coltak’s original consciousness, do Arazi have a right to reproduce? And should Humanity consider intervention if that process is judged unethical?”

For the first time since the interview began, Parker’s expression lost its tired academic softness, replacing it with cold certainty. “No,” he said. “Not intervention in the sense that a lot of people are implying.”

“I hope you don’t mind elaborating…” I replied as onscreen the chat blurred into a wall of outrage and agreement. 

“Let’s be very clear about what ‘intervening’ would entail,” Parker began, looking like someone freshly exhausted with euphemism. “Arazi reproduction requires Coltak. There is no artificial substitute they can currently use. Attempts to use cloned, brain-inactive Coltak failed because the worm requires an active, developed nervous system. So when people say Humanity should intervene to prevent awakening, they are not proposing a minor rights reform. They are proposing we demand an entire sapient species cease reproducing.”

He leaned closer to the camera, his eyes cold and precise in a way I’d never seen from him. “That is not animal protection. That is not diplomacy. That is genocide with a moral vocabulary. Unless we are willing to be the aggressor in an interstellar war of extinction, there is no honest way to discuss the abolition of a process that is not cultural, but ingrained into their biology.”

I knew, immediately, that this would be THE clip. Not because it settled the argument, but because it gave both sides something sharp enough to swing. For a moment, the chat’s endless scroll slowed down, recoiling as though struck by the force of the xenobiologist’s statement. However, once the shock wore off, the discourse returned with a vengeance. 

GENOCIDE?? Did he seriously just say that?

He’s right. If “stop awakening forever” means no new Arazi, that is literally species death.

Nobody said extinction. We said STOP USING COLTAK.

He literally just explained that they can’t.

“Genocide with a moral vocabulary” does go pretty hard.

This is such a cheap rhetorical trick. Nobody is calling for genocide. We’re calling for ethics.

Ethics that require an entire species to never reproduce again?

This is why scientists shouldn’t do politics.

This is why pundits shouldn’t do biology.

Nope. Not buying it. “Our survival requires victims” has been the excuse for every atrocity ever.

So we’re just supposed to let the brain worms infect monkeys forever?

They have surface-to-space cannons and a unified military. Good luck intervening.

Sucking in a deep breath to steady my voice against the tide of argument flowing in at velocities that would make a pressure washer blush, I cleared my throat and asked the obvious next question. “Then what do you believe intervention can look like, if not abolition?”

“In all honesty, I’m not completely sure,” Lan confessed. “I don’t believe there is a ‘clean’ answer here. From my perspective, I don’t believe we know enough about the process to make any demands at the moment. Understanding an issue is key to avoiding making it worse. I think first we should request access to Coltak sanctuaries for cognition research and ethical review. I cannot rightly say where we should go from there.”

Questioning continued for another twenty minutes or so, with Doctor Lan answering to the best of his abilities. Once my pool of inquiry had mostly been depleted, the time had come to open the floodgates and let the chat grill him directly. 

“Doctor Lan, user RiverWitness asks ‘you keep saying they can’t infect Humans, but evolution happens. What if they adapt?”

Parker sighed breathily upon the question, like he was actively restraining himself from insulting the person who asked it. “Evolution is not magic. A parasite does not simply decide to use a radically different host. The Arazi worm is specialized around Coltak neurobiology, development, and immune chemistry. Could they theoretically with hundreds or thousands of years and the proper pressures evolve to infect a Human? Sure. But that’s not a credible threat scenario. By that standard, Earth fungi could eventually evolve to eat skyscrapers.”

I nodded along to his answer before moving on quickly, recognizing that our time was short. “Our next question is from user OneLinkBangle. ‘What are the Arazi like outside of reproduction? Do they have art, entertainment, news, hobbies?”

“Yes,” Parker replied. “We’ve seen news, documentaries, music broadcasts, comedy panels, public education shows, and what I’m pretty sure was a cooking competition. The Arazi are not their lifecycle just the same as we Humans are not our digestive tract.”

“User LastPanStanding asks ‘should we be worried that the Arazi are an authoritarian technocracy?’”

This one actually seemed to make Parker hesitate for a second. “That is more my crewmate Isla’s territory than mine. From what I have seen, the Directorate is not a democracy in the Human sense. It is centralized, credential-driven, and deeply managerial. While I understand why this might be viewed as worrying, it is also worth noting that the system seems to provide them with high stability, broad social services, and real internal rights mechanisms. I believe that they are using a form of government suitable to their species’ psychology.”

Questions flowed in for another twenty minutes of our ten minute time slot. Some were blatant fearmongering, others ethical or scientific inquiry, and a few were from people who seemed less existentially disgusted and more genuinely curious. By the time it was over, viewership on the stream had tripled from its beginning, and already journalists from both the Meridian Wire and the Atlas Review had published short articles on it.

“Thank you again so much for agreeing to join us today, Doctor Lan,” I smiled. “I’m glad we have people like the FIND crew to represent our interests beyond Earth.”

With a cordial nod, Parker logged off, officially concluding the stream. For a few seconds after his window vanished, I sat alone in the broadcast room listening to the muffled pulse of the newsroom’s bustle behind the wall. The stream had not settled anything. Rather, it seemed like Parker had handed the world more rhetorical weapons to beat each other with. But at least now, I thought, watching the clips multiply across my feed, some of them were aimed at the right questions.

--------------------------------------

Hello everyone. Sorry for the delay. I've been working a lot lately and have a summer class in differential equations. Thank you all so much for reading and please comment your thoughts: I love reading your comments and they mean a lot to me. Join in next time as the FIND takes a look at yet another alien civilization!

First...Previous

August 26, 2038

Harsh waves of unfamiliar sound bounced violently off the walls of our transport as Will dutifully kept it speeding down the otherwise empty road. “This is our most popular song,” began Lucas, pointing toward the van’s dashboard at a built-in black box that they had used to conjure forth these noises. “It’s called ‘Redshift’. Like it?”

“It’s… Very energetic…” I replied, unsure of how else to describe this bizarre cacophony accompanied on occasion the voice of Lucas himself. “How do you make those noises?”

“Which ones?” Asked Olli, appearing somewhat puzzled by my inquiry. Up front, Will reached for a small knob on the dashboard and twisted it to incrementally decrease the music’s volume until it no longer ripped quite so aggressively against my ‘skin’.

Paying close attention to the unfamiliar sounds and isolating their individual rhythms, I carefully searched my mind for the correct descriptors. “I can tell you’re hitting something to make that thumping noise, but how do you get that weird screech?”

“What, you’ve never heard someone playing a guitar before?” Asked Jack, his eyes going wide with newfound incredulity. “What kind of rock have you been living under all your life?”

Confusion twisted my falsified human features as I contemplated what to even say in response to such a bizarre question. Fortunately, Lucas seemed to take note of my discomfort, promptly speaking up on my behalf. “Don’t be an asshole, Jack!” He grinned to his compatriot, the term clearly intended as an insult but nevertheless spoken in this case with a certain friendly endearment. “I feel like it should be pretty obvious at this point where Sam comes from.”

“You think it’s obvious?” I asked, attempting to conceal panic that saturated my cells in response to this revelation. If a single human could see through my disguise so easily, then I clearly had no chance of blending into civilization at large. For a moment, I contemplated cutting my losses and taking off—after all, I had no idea what these humans would do now that at least one of them knew my true nature.

“Your parents are Amish, aren’t they?” Lucas continued, immediately replacing my fear with utter confusion. I had no idea what ‘Amish’ was, but I was pretty sure it didn’t pertain to my actual mode of being. “You don’t have to be embarrassed—there’s nothing wrong with it!”

With my cover still very much intact, I decided that perhaps my best option was to simply accept whatever explanations they came up with. “Uhh… How did you know?”

“No offense, man, but it’s pretty obvious!” Grinned Lucas, draping his arm around my shoulders as he explained. “I mean, c’mon: the religious name, the aversion to music, not knowing what a guitar is—it all makes perfect sense.”

Apparently, Jack found this to be a satisfying explanation, almost immediately doing away with his prior incredulity. “Sorry, man…” He began, his lips curling upward into a strained grin. “I didn’t mean to disparage that kinda lifestyle, I just couldn’t connect the dots. No offense to your family, of course!”

“None taken,” I replied, deciding it best to steer the conversation away from my origins before I said something that could clear the misunderstanding. “Honestly, I’d prefer not to discuss it if that’s okay with you all…”

“Falling out with the folks?” Asked Olli from his seat beside the driver, looking back upon me with an expression of sympathy. “You don’t gotta answer that if it’s not something you’re comfortable with.”

“I suppose one could say that…” I affirmed, thinking back despite myself to when I first came hurtling down onto this planet’s surface. I wasn’t even sure if I had ‘folks’ the same way these humans did, but whatever gave rise to me clearly wasn’t all that interested in keeping me around. 

Reaching across from his seat, Olli haphazardly sifted through the pile of bags belonging mostly to the band. For the briefest moment, I recoiled as his hand came into contact with my biomass ‘bag’ before immediately moving on to grab the one next to it. Cocking my head quizzically, I eyed the oddly-shaped case, taking note of its bulky body and long, slender protrusion reminiscent of a neck. “You wanted to know how the sound was made, didn’t you?” Olli asked, popping open the case to reveal inside a perfectly-fitting device with strings running down its slender length from a selection of knobs at the top. “This is my guitar. When I plug it in and pluck the strings, it makes those noises.”

“Interesting…” I replied, tentatively reaching forth and gently running my finger along the instrument’s length, drawing forth from it a light thrumming sound. “So you use this one and Lucas uses his voice. What about Jack and Will?”

“I do drums,” answered Jack, clasping his hands into fists and mimicking the motion of hitting something with them. “That banging noise is all me! Will’s on bass—sorta like the guitar, but shaped differently.”

“And all the people like this?” I asked.

From the driver’s seat, Will let out a light chuckle. “Everyone’s got their own taste in music, but the people who like what we make pay us well.”

“Pay?” Contemplating that word, it came up in my mind with associations of exchange and the trading of goods. Thanks to the bad ones I’d devoured, I understood human words, but putting them into context without any experience was difficult.

“Right: you guys are like, super communal, aren’t you?” Asked Olli, presumably once again in reference to these ‘Amish’. Were they a subspecies, perhaps? “Most people use money—coins and paper bills—to represent value and trade for what they need…”

All this was very fascinating, and as such I continued to inquire on how ‘currency’ operated. Such knowledge, I imagined, would be very useful for blending into human society. After a few minutes of inquiry followed graciously by answers from the group, Will began to peer quizzically at the van’s dashboard. “Looks like we’re low on gas,” he said—another absolutely baffling statement.

“How are we ‘low’ on gas?” I asked, inhaling to make sure there was nothing wrong with the air around us. “It’s everywhere, is it not?”

“He means ‘gasoline’,” replied Lucas matter-of-factly. “It’s the stuff that keeps our van moving. There should be a gas station about three miles from here where we can get more.”

Within a few minutes, we came upon a small building with lights inside and a line of mysterious nozzled devices lined up out front. Pulling up to this odd building and stopping the vehicle just beside one of the nozzles, Will stepped out from the driver’s side and began fiddling with some kind of control panel. “You guys can go inside: I’ll fill ‘er up,” he said, reaching into a fold formerly occupying his pocket before handing me a piece of green paper. “Grab me a soda and the rest is yours, Sam.”

Following the other three band members into this building, I glanced about in search of this ‘soda’ I was told to retrieve. “Sodas are near the back,” said Olli, taking note of my confusion as he pointed toward the far wall to where various roughly-cylindrical containers stood in rows upon a door-covered shelf.

Approaching this display and searching through these containers, I murmured the descriptions beneath my breath. “Raspberry energy drink… Cool blue sport drink… Orange-flavored soda!” Opening the door and reaching in to take hold of the container, I looked it over curiously. Turning the container and viewing its contents, I immediately recognized most of the chemical names. Much to my surprise and delight, this liquid was almost pure sugar! 

Placing Will’s drink under my shoulder and grabbing a few for myself, I consulted with the others on how best to spend the remainder of my currency. “Those drinks are a dollar-fifty each, so you’ve got about four dollars left,” said Lucas, reaching into his pocket and handing me another few coins. “This should cover whatever tax there is.”

As I said before, the counting system of these creatures was foreign to me. After experiencing it once, however, I was able to rather quickly get the general gist of how counting worked. Holding up four fingers to represent my remaining currency, I searched the surrounding area for anything that could be worth spending it on. Soon enough, my search came to a halt in front of a sign. ‘Hot dogs: 1$’. Above these words were tubes of what appeared to be flesh, each one nestled into some kind of edible holder.

Grabbing a single paper basket from beside the display and piling four of these ‘hot dogs’ onto it, I approached the front counter where the others awaited me and handed the stranger up front my bill and coins. “Are those all for you?” Asked Olli, pointing toward my hot dogs.

“I intend them to be,” I shrugged before turning toward him and generously holding out the basket. “Would you like one?”

“No thanks, man,” replied the guitarist. In all honesty, I was glad that he didn’t want one. Willing though I was to share my meal, that didn’t necessarily mean I wanted to. Carrying this bounty back out to the van, I carefully set the food I intended to consume down onto my seat before approaching Will and handing him the ‘soda’ he requested. 

“Nice! Thank you,” grinned Will, taking the bottle and twisting off a small piece from the top before raising it to his lips for a sip. “I see you got some for yourself too. Ever had a soda before?”

Shaking my head to indicate a negative, I followed Will’s lead in twisting the cap off of my drink before raising it to my maw and slurping down the sweet beverage within. Nostalgia flooded into my cells as I harkened to when the soft one used to feed me an analogous sugar solution. Unlike the glucose given to me previously, however, this liquid primarily contained fructose, with added hints of both sucrose and glucose. Lowering the newly-emptied bottle from my lips, I looked to the human before me with a smile. “It’s… Pleasant.”

“You didn’t have to tell me!” He replied, accurately interpreting the speed of my consumption as an indication of enjoyment.

With the other band members once again piling into their vehicle, I reached for one of the ‘hot dogs’ I’d bought and took a tentative bite of it. Delicious. The red flesh tube reminded me vaguely of the ‘pinkies’ I’d once been fed, albeit enhanced by the addition of a bun rich in starches and gluten. Lucas and company watched with wide eyes as I stuffed the first two hot dogs down my gullet before washing it down with another bottle of soda. “Holy shit: did your folks feed you back home?” Chuckled Jack.

“Sometimes…” I replied, picking up the third morsel and inhaling it in two bites, much to the amusement of surrounding band members. For meat, this flesh tube was shockingly easy to break down—although with a slightly reduced nutrient content. An analysis of its cell walls indicated the same kind of damage mine incurred when under high temperatures. Perhaps humans use heat to help break down their meals before consumption? 

Taking the time to savor my last hot dog, I decided to finish my third soda before taking the final bite. Meanwhile as I drank, Olli up front began turning a knob on the van’s dashboard, alternating the vehicle’s music between drastically different styles. One station had a distant twang to it with a singer who enunciated their words strangely. Another sounded like a harsher, more violent version of the music my travel companions played. Then, the stream of music fell silent, replaced by a smooth voice.

“—University in Ohio still closed down after alleged biohazard leak. Several individuals have been quarantined following a leak of undisclosed nature. When pressed for comment, university deans assured our news station that the situation is under control and nobody has been injured, but have otherwise refused to comment on the rumors regarding what was being held there.”

“Quarantine…” I murmured beneath my ‘breath’, recalling that very same word being spoken by yellow-suit with regards to the soft one. Was this ‘university’ where they were holding me prior to the evil ones’ involvement? That seemed to be the likely scenario.

“Something up, Sam?” Lucas asked, taking evident note of my altered demeanor. “You seem sorta… Lost in thought.”

Pausing for a moment to compose myself, I shook my body to disperse the discomfort before finishing my drink and meeting Lucas’ concerned expression with a disarming smile. “It’s nothing,” I assured him. “I was just thinking of how much I need to get to New York.”

“About that,” began Jack, regarding me with a quizzical expression. “I never got the chance to ask before: what are you going to New York for? Do you got family there or something?”

Popping the last bite of hot dog into my mouth, I chewed contemplatively upon it before swallowing. “Family? I… Suppose one could say that.” 

Hollow conversation continued for another fifteen minutes or so, though by the time we passed city limits my interest was far more piqued by the surrounding urban landscape. Buildings taller than I’d have thought possible loomed above us, their faces reflecting the orange early-morning sky. Rows of lights and signs blinked like constellations, and the streets buzzed with a strange energy; a chaotic rhythm of life. 

“Where do you want us to drop you off?” Asked Will, looking toward me expectantly, hoping for an answer I had not the knowledge to give.

“Umm… Somewhere secluded if you can…” I replied, peering out anxiously at the wilderness of concrete before me. “I… Uhh… I need some time alone.”

Blatantly suspicious as I’m sure that sounded, the band members didn’t press me any further. Instead, a few minutes later they pulled into a large road square sparsely populated by unmoving vehicles. “Good luck, Sam!” Smiled Jack, watching as I removed my biomass bag and stepped out of the van. “You’re a cool guy. Weird, but cool.”

“Thank you,” I smiled, taking no small amount of pride in this compliment.

Stretching his hand out to me once again, Lucas grinned as I reached out to give it a shake before reaching into his pocket and producing a plastic card with various numbers on the bottom. “Here: our card. If you’re ever in the area and you wanna see a show, just give us a call and we’ll hook you up, okay?”

“Okay!” I responded enthusiastically, admittedly pleased by the prospect of perhaps seeing these particular humans again. 

“You take care now!” Said Olli, waving back at me from the passenger seat as Lucas and Jack eased shut the doors of their van and drove off, leaving me alone in the city of Fargo.

---------------------------------------

Hi, everyone. Not many changes for this chapter. I already rather like everything I did here

First...Previous

Chapter 17
Elias Rook, SUN Secretary General

When Varga’s ship appeared back in our system for the second time, nobody assumed it was a malfunction. The first early return had already taught us to expect the impossible. I was at a conference discussing Project Bilrost when word was brought to me that the FIND had come back again. This time, I told myself, we would be prepared for anything they could have found.

After the Rosha revelation, SUN voted to amend FIND’s mission statement to require review from SUN officials before information on planets was released. The public was less than pleased with this decision even after we made the concession of an official clause promising transparency outside of planetary security matters. That term had honestly felt too narrow for my liking, though the public considered it overly broad.

Taking a deep breath as I sat down on my cushioned office chair and opened up the encrypted channel, I saw Varga’s face onscreen, still and inscrutable. Within minutes, all other approved parties logged on, and once we were all present, I spoke up. “What did you find out there, Varga?” I asked, loading the planet’s file sent to us by FIND. The first thing we all saw was the name: ‘Ebene’. Immediately, the other leaders and SUN officials did the same, pulling up the tidy document. Before I could stop them, a few of the leaders already began to scroll through. “Patience, people,” I commanded, staring at the FIND’s captain. “I’d prefer we keep this organized and professional.”

“I second that,” Varga cut in, his voice hampered by a hesitance I’d rarely heard in him. “Before we begin, I need everyone here to understand that what we encountered on Ebene was another sapient civilization. That being said, they are likely to disturb a great many people.”

What little warmth sat between us all drained from the chatroom like someone had cracked open an airlock, replaced immediately by frigid tension as SUN officials and world leaders alike leaned in toward their screens. “Don’t leave us in suspense, Varga,” the U.S. President replied, his face looking dour without its usual plastic smile. “Enlighten us. Who did you find?”

Harrison gestured for everyone to scroll down. Just below the planet’s name was an image of yet another beautiful world—greener than Earth on account of its larger continents. “We encountered radio signals almost immediately after entering the system,” explained Varga. “Wyatts got us a translation, and we made contact with the Arazi people a little over a week later.”

Scrolling down further, I saw what looked to be a screenshot of an Arazi—it reminded me of something between a chimpanzee and a capuchin monkey, only with large, foxlike ears. 

“They don’t look so terrible to me,” the French President noted, scrutinizing the image carefully as though afraid he might be missing something. “What about them is so disturbing?”

Varga nodded to me, and I scrolled down. Below the first image were a series of medical scans. The first depicted what looked to be a CT scan of an Arazi’s head. A few of the leaders looked confused as they came upon that same image. Then, I saw the Canadian Prime Minister’s eyes go wide, followed by the German Chancellor’s. Scrolling down, I saw in the second scan a small, dark mass growing inside the skull. In the third, it was bigger. By the fourth, it occupied a sizable portion of where the brain used to be.

“What is that thing?” asked SUN’s Health Minister, looking deeply unnerved by the invading mass. “Some kind of tumor?”

“That,” Parker Lan replied, appearing behind Harrison, “is the Arazi.”

Confusion decorated the faces of almost everyone on the call as they looked upon the image with baffled revulsion. “He wasn’t asking about the Arazi that this is a scan of,” the German Chancellor attempted to clarify, perhaps assuming that the biologist had misunderstood. “He was asking about that growth.”

“Keep reading,” Varga sighed. Immediately, just about everyone on the call navigated to the next paragraph: biology. Not to be left behind, I quickly did the same.

Biology: The Arazi are not the visible primate-like organisms initially observed in Ebene’s broadcasts. Those organisms are known locally as the Coltak, a non-sapient or near-sapient species native to Ebene. The Arazi themselves are parasitic, wormlike organisms that reproduce through aquatic transmission. An Arazi egg enters the Coltak bloodstream through drinking water before hatching and migrating to the brain, anchoring itself there. Over the course of development, the Arazi organism consumes, restructures, and redelegates significant portions of the Coltak’s higher cognitive architecture while preserving motor control, sensory processing, and other necessary functions. The Arazi worm, meanwhile, grows new structures for advanced cognition. Arazi sources describe this process as ‘awakening’. Once complete, the resulting individual is recognized by Arazi society as a full person and citizen. Available Arazi medical literature suggests that this process is highly host-specific and that the Arazi worm cannot integrate with non-Coltak organisms. Preliminary analysis by FIND’s medical officer supports the conclusion that infection risk is virtually zero. However, until absolute confirmation is obtained, standard biosecurity protocols remain mandatory. 
—Parker Lan

For several seconds, no one spoke. It was not the respectful, awed silence that had followed the first image of the Rosha. This was colder, uglier, the silence of minds undecided on whether they had just been introduced to a people or to a disease. 

Health Minister Peter Albright was first to break the silence, glancing between the FIND crew and their report. “It says here the risk of infection is ‘virtually zero’,” he began, his gaze settling on a cold glare. “What precisely does that mean?”

“It means that without a sample, I can’t completely rule it out,” explained Lan, “but all signs point to it not being a realistic concern.”

“Did FIND maintain quarantine?” Demanded a security official, glaring through the screen with eyes like daggers. “Did anyone remove their helmets? Did any biological material at all enter the ship?”

“No,” Harrison assured him and everyone else. “None of us stepped foot on Ebene and FIND never even entered its atmosphere. Contact was entirely remote.”

“Then infection is not the immediate issue,” said Minister Peter, the expression on his face nevertheless far from comforted. 

“No,” replied the Russian President, eyes fixed firmly upon the medical scans. “The immediate issue is why this report repeatedly refers to these organisms as a civilization.”

Varga’s jaw tightened immediately. “We call them that because by all definitions they are one,” he explained.

“Are they?” The President pressed further. “Or are they parasites using the body of another species to simulate one?”

Across the virtual conference room, several officials recoiled from the statement’s bluntness, while others looked almost relieved that they didn’t have to be the one to say it aloud first.

“The Arazi meet all criteria for sapience as set forward by SUN,” Parker Lan replied at last. “They have a planetary government, radio infrastructure, medicine, and a space-monitoring program that detected the FIND almost as soon as we entered the system.”

“Those criteria were written before we knew such a lifecycle as this was possible,” the British Prime Minister objected. “Allow me to ask in a clearer framework: are these people or parasites?”

Lan’s expression hardened with disappointment upon the question, as though he’d been expecting better. “Those terms are not mutually exclusive,” he answered. “It’s like asking if we’re omnivores or people.”

Seeing that the conversation was beginning to grow contentious, I cleared my throat and raised a hand to silence the room. “Let’s not get into a debate about personhood before we’ve even read the full report. We need to get a full understanding of this species before we make any conclusions.”

Political/Social Organization: Arazi civilization is governed by a single planetary authority referred to as the Unified Directorate. This state is governed by a twenty-member Executive Board, with each Chair overseeing a specific domain of state function: Reproduction, Public Health, Justice, Food, Education, Labor, Economics, Engineering, Defense, Energy, Astronomy, Transportation, Housing, Communications, Culture, Disaster Response, Ecology, Public Media, Sanitation, and Rights. Chairs are selected by weighted vote within the professions they govern, with vote weight determined by education level. The Rights Chair is the sole exception, elected by universal citizen vote and empowered to review or veto Board decisions that violate the Directorate’s governing charter.
—Isla Wilson

For a moment, the conference room’s initial revulsion took a back seat to a more disciplined calculation. The medical scans had made the Arazi look like a nightmare. The government section made them look like a state.

“A single planetary authority,” the French President said at last, his tone registering between dread and begrudging respect. It was something that countless Human empires had dreamed of through the ages, but none of them ever managed to achieve. “So they are fully unified?”

“That would seem to be the case,” Varga replied. 

“How did the Arazi themselves describe this system?” Asked the Canadian Prime Minister.

Varga glanced offscreen as Isla Wilson stepped into frame, holding her physical notepad. “The Arazi see it as governance by competence,” she explained. “Their historical memory of mass democracy is rather negative, with the current government’s former rival having supposedly collapsed into corporate capture, at least according to their historical sources.”

“Very convenient for their current government,” the British Prime Minister said.

“Possibly,” Isla affirmed. “I did some more digging and the records I reviewed suggest at least some truth behind the state narrative. The Dalen Popular Union definitely had issues with corruption. During the war that ended with the planet’s unification, their president ignored complaints about shoddy weapons because the company that manufactured them was giving him kickbacks. There were enough records of this event and events like it to mostly rule out the notion that it’s all fake. I’d say it’s much more likely the history is curated rather than fabricated wholesale.”

Around the virtual room, a few of the leaders looked like they’d just tasted something bitter. “That’s not real democracy,” the German Chancellor said, “it’s corporate plutocracy.”

“The Arazi didn’t seem all that interested in the difference,” Isla answered.

“Are there any opposition factions?” The U.S. President asked, perhaps already wondering if there was a faction more receptive to us. “Some kind of resistance?”

Varga shook his head. “Not to our knowledge,” he said. “If nothing else, their system is remarkably stable. They haven’t had any kind of organized competition in nearly seventy years.”

“It is written here that the Rights Chair is voted in by all citizens,” the Indian Prime Minister began. “Does that include the Coltak?”

“No,” Lan replied curtly. “Only awakened Arazi qualify for citizenship. The Coltak are protected under animal rights law, not civic law.”

“Again, convenient,” muttered the British Prime Minister.

Parker’s expression tightened. “Maybe, but based on everything we’ve seen, Coltak cognition appears to be roughly on the level of non-Human great apes. Social, intelligent, and emotionally complex, but not sapient in the way Humans or Arazi are. It doesn’t erase the ethical questions, but last I checked, we don’t let chimps vote either.”

His answer did little to settle the room. If anything, it seemed to deepen the discomfort.

“Why is there a Reproductive Board?” asked the German Chancellor, the very term seeming to sour his expression. “On Earth, such a government function would be viewed as a remarkable overreach of state power.”

“It isn’t when reproduction requires another species,” Lan answered. “Arazi eggs have to enter a Coltak bloodstream and eventually integrate into their brain. That means the state manages Coltak sanctuaries, health screenings, population stability, disease control, and grants permission for Arazi to ‘sire’.”

Isla stepped closer to the camera. “These sanctuaries aren’t small facilities, either. From public records and satellite imagery, they appear to be massive preserve systems—part wildlife sanctuary, part reproductive infrastructure, part public health institution.”

“Their government seems like a technocracy,” concluded the Japanese Prime Minister. 

“Or like authoritarianism in a lab coat,” the Canadian Prime Minister retorted.

“Regardless,” I cut in, my voice slicing through the chatter. “This is the government they have. If we want to interact with the Arazi, we have to go through the Directorate.”

Most of the leaders offered no reply, and seeing as some of them were already moving on, I did the same and scrolled down again.

Economics/Material Life: The Arazi economic system is highly state-controlled. Newly-awakened Arazi receive three years of basic education before taking an exam to determine the fields of work they are most suited for. They then choose from the top five options and are further educated on how to work in their field. Once educated, Arazi are assigned jobs by their Labor Board. Arazi wages are based on a minimum living wage calculated by their Economics Board. All Arazi jobs supply a minimum of living wage plus twenty percent, while Arazi whom the Directorate has not found jobs for are supplied with living wage plus ten percent while their Labor Board continues to search for a placement.

“So they assign their people careers?” The U.S. President said, his eyes scanning over the paragraph with open distaste. “That’s not an economy; it’s a machine.”

“A rather effective one, apparently,” replied SUN’s Economic Minister, looking over the blob of numbers and statistics below presumably plucked straight from Arazi sources. “If their public figures are accurate, they have low unemployment, minimal homelessness, and very stable essential production.”

“Public figures produced by the same state maintaining this system,” the British Prime Minister half-noted, half-retorted.

“Yes,” the Economic Minister conceded. “Which means they should be treated cautiously, not dismissed altogether.”

“What happens if an Arazi refuses their assigned role?” Asked the Canadian Prime Minister. 

“They can apply for reassignment,” Varga said. “Though applications aren’t required to be honored. They can also opt out of state placement completely, but doing so voids their basic wage.”

“So they do have a version of universal basic income,” noted the French President, seemingly mildly impressed in spite of himself. “Only it cost them their freedom of vocation.”

“Remember,” Lan added, “their development timeline is not ours. Arazi don’t spend eighteen years being raised by parents while slowly discovering their interests. They awaken cognitively mature, then receive three years of basic education. Professional placement may simply be a natural byproduct of this lifecycle.”

“Natural or not,” the Canadian PM replied, “it still places an extraordinary amount of power in state hands.”

I sighed. The Rosha had offended capitalism by living around it. The Arazi, meanwhile, offended liberalism by efficiently replacing choice with placement.

Fortunately for us, the remaining sections contained no further major bombshells. The Arazi were fairly technologically advanced—roughly equivalent to the Human 2020s or 2030s. A few military officials noticeably stiffened when learning that the Arazi SETI program, Watch the Skies, also controlled hundreds if not thousands of surface-to-space cannons. They clearly hadn’t built protocol on the assumption that first contact would be peaceful. 

Arazi religion meanwhile seemed mostly like fluff text in comparison—a mostly atheist population with a considerable religious minority based on a knowledge god murdered to create them. Even still, I was glad that FIND included it, as the section would be useful for parsing Arazi self-image. 

By the time we reached the end of the report, the room’s temperature had settled into something cold but no longer unilaterally hostile. The initial disgust had not vanished so much as being diluted by calculation. The Arazi were not a plague wearing stolen faces. They were not victims waiting to be rescued from their own biology. They were a modern, unified civilization with medicine, history, culture, industry, orbital defenses, and a governing philosophy that made half the people on this call look like they’d bitten into glass. Whatever else they were, the Arazi were not a species we could dismiss.

“Until further notice,” I began, my voice carrying clear to everyone in the virtual room, “any and all planning regarding Ebene proceeds under the assumption that the Arazi are a sovereign sapient civilization. The Coltak question will be assigned to a separate ethics committee review. Biosecurity remains mandatory. No public statement goes out until this room has agreed on language that will not start a panic.”

No one looked satisfied. Good. That meant they all understood.

-------------------------------------

Hello everyone. Sorry for the delay. I've been busy with another creative project: designing a Sci-Fi tabletop RPG system for my friends. As always, please leave comments: I love to read them. Thank you all so much for reading and I'll see you next time.

First...Previous

Chapter 16
Kethis, Watch The Skies Senior Technician

While we awaited connection from the remaining Executive Chairs, I stepped away from my console to confer with the other workers, hoping that together we could assemble a coherent profile of the aliens before us. Lon had since returned to the facility, no doubt to his mate’s chagrin. Nevertheless, he conversed excitedly with the others, each of whom occasionally spared a glance up at the main screen where the Human crew stared back from inside their impossible vessel.

“Fascinating…” murmured the facility biochemist, Enise. Her job was usually limited to helping us scan for bio signatures on faraway planets, but with confirmed alien intelligence in orbit, her expertise was suddenly in much higher demand. “This is a major blow to Alzeem’s Cognitive Leap Hypothesis.”

Beside her, one of the astronomers nodded along in understanding. Meanwhile, Lon and I exchanged a confused glance. “Forgive me,” I began, “but we’re not all as well-versed in biology as you. Care to elaborate?”

“The Cognitive Leap Hypothesis states that sapience at the level required for civilization is either impossible or highly unlikely without parasitic integration,” explained Enise. “Clearly, these Humans achieved it just fine on their own.”

“I’m more interested in how they got here,” Lon confessed. “Creating spaceholes suggests they have a very advanced model of physics. We’re nowhere close to achieving something like that, but the data from their entry alone could push our own understanding forward by decades!”

Glancing down at the orange wristband I still hadn’t bothered to remove, I picked at it nervously, my thoughts returning repeatedly to the Humans’ perturbed reactions regarding the Coltak. “They seem rather… Uncomfortable with our embodiment,” I concluded at last. 

“Some culture shock is to be expected,” Enise replied nonchalantly. “Their cognition appears to be continuous in a way ours is not. They may not have a natural category for beings like us. Even on Ebene, we are rather unique organisms.”

That certainly was one way to describe it. Another was that the Humans had looked upon the bedrock of our civilization and saw a moral crime before anything else. That was uncomfortable on its own, but when coupled with a clear technological advantage, their disgust no longer felt abstract.

At last as the Economics and Energy Chairs signed on, the time had come for first contact to resume in earnest. Forcing down my own reservations, I once again approached the terminal and made a few signal adjustments for lower latency. Onscreen, I saw the eighteen other Chairs all regarding the Humans with expressions of naked astonishment. 

The Defense Chair introduced his cohorts and the Human diplomat introduced their crew in kind. “Before we continue our conversation,” began Xand as in the background of the Human ship their captain climbed up a ladder and out of view, “I would like to formally request a full explanation of your crew’s intention here. We understand that you were surveying systems. What are your plans now that you have discovered this planet to be in use?”

The diplomat, Isla, lowered her head briefly before raising it back up in a gesture I assumed to be acknowledgement. “Rest assured our intentions are peaceful,” she replied. “We will report back to the Second United Nations and tell them what we know about your people so that they can manage any future contact.”

“Manage…” Repeated Xand, the word clearly leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Might I ask what say we have in this process?”

“Contact will be negotiated between both parties,” Isla explained, seemingly unfazed by the security chair’s probing. “However, I am not at liberty to make detailed procedural guarantees.”

This answer did little to satisfy Xand, though nevertheless he stepped back to chew on it with his underlings as the Humans’ biologist leaned into frame. “I have some questions regarding your lifecycle,” he began. “I’d like to make sure we represent it as accurately as possible to the people of our planet.”

On one of the call windows, Reproductive Chair Teza leaned forward, further engaging herself in this conversation. “I am a foremost expert on Arazi health and reproductive science,” she explained. “Any questions regarding our awakening should therefore go through me.”

“Alright…” the Human nodded, offering no resistance to her assertion. “First things first, I’d like to understand how specialized the… Uh… The worm is. Are there any other lifeforms it can infect wholly or partially?”

Teza rolled her eyes in negation. “The Arazi worm is highly optimized for its niche. It cannot integrate with anything other than a Coltak. You have no need to be concerned about infection: the worst it could do to one of your people is a slight allergic reaction.”

“To ensure safety and peace of mind for our people, I’d like to formally request any papers you have available regarding Arazi compatibility,” concluded the biologist.

Offering an ear flick of acknowledgment, Teza gestured to someone offscreen. “We will gather the relevant documents.”

“Thank you,” the Human replied, taking a moment to type something into his own terminal before continuing. “What precisely happens to the Coltak consciousness during awakening?” He continued.

“Consciousness is a complicated phenomenon with many facets,” explained Teza, her tone as clear and intellectual as a professor’s. “Most of the Coltak’s higher thinking center is either consumed or redelegated by the Arazi worm. The motor control, sensory processing, and certain social interaction centers remain undamaged. However, there is no evidence of the Coltak experience persisting.”

We had all heard some variation of that teaching at some point in our lives, though before the Humans it felt less like a recitation of scientific fact and more like a confession. The biologist onscreen shifted uncomfortably, typing in something else before continuing. “Do any memories persist between the Coltak and the Arazi that inherits its body?”

“Fragments on occasion,” Teza replied. “Food preferences, motor habits, sensory familiarity. Nothing we could classify as continuity of selfhood.”

Sated but not satisfied by this response, the Human moved on. “What happens if more than one worm connects to the Coltak brain?”

“Sagamer Syndrome,” Oen cut in from our end, his interruption met by the Reproductive Chair with tacit approval. “It’s a rare condition in which two worms both connect to the brain. It results in a sort of dual consciousness. Sagamers possess remarkable dual-track minds, though the presence of two worms attempting to pilot one body limits our coordination somewhat. I have to get around in a wheelchair so I don’t lose a fight to a staircase.”

The Humans chuckled a beat late, their slight mirth staggered by lingering discomfort. Taking this as an opportunity, the Chair of History and Culture cleared his throat to speak. “Could you describe your government to us?” He asked, his voice stuck somewhere between curiosity and caution.

Accepting a steaming cup of brown liquid from their captain, Isla nodded affirmatively to us. “The Second United Nations, or SUN, is a government of governments. Our planet has many nations, most of which practice various forms of democracy in the modern day. SUN makes decisions regarding how these governments should be allowed to operate.”

Concern flickered momentarily across the History Chair’s face before dissolving once more into feigned neutrality. “How do your democracies ensure the competence of those it elects? How do they prevent capture by wealthy individuals and groups?”

“Imperfectly,” Isla sighed, sounding somewhat defeated. “The honest answer is that democracy doesn’t guarantee competence, only consent. SUN has made some solid progress in standardizing anti-corruption law.”

“I am pleased to hear it works better for your people than it did for ours,” the History Chair replied. “Our species’ only attempt at large-scale democracy was the Dalen Popular Union. They fell victim to mass corporate capture and were ultimately defeated. We Arazi have a saying: ‘when you need surgery, do you go to the Arazi with surgical credentials, or the Arazi who has successfully convinced the two standing beside you that he is a surgeon?’”

Despite a clear effort to avoid betraying bias, the diplomat nevertheless recoiled slightly upon that quote. Leaning back into the frame, the Human biologist regarded us like a man trying very hard not to turn first contact into an argument. “I’m sorry to circle back,” he began, “but I have a few more biological questions. Your lifecycle is unlike anything we’ve encountered.”

“Understandable,” said Teza. “Our biology is rather unique even on our planet.”

“Can an Arazi worm develop or survive outside of a Coltak brain?” He asked. 

Again, the Reproductive Chair rolled her eyes. “Negative on both counts,” she told him. “The parasite is too specialized to develop inside anything other than a cognitively active Coltak brain. Once the awakening is complete, removal is not possible without killing both parties. At one point we did attempt to clone ‘empty’ Coltak for integration, but their lack of neural pathways and muscle memory prevented successful awakening.”

“How long does it take a new Arazi to fully join your society once they ‘awaken’?” The biologist asked, emphasizing the last word as though hesitant to use it at all.

Casting a glance toward the Education and Research Chairman, Teza allowed him to answer in her stead. “It takes three years for an Arazi to master the basics,” he explained. “Language, hygiene, mathematics, history, and science. Once that period concludes, Arazi take the Official Professional Placement Exam to determine their career path. They then spend another three years attaining education in their field before officially entering the workforce.”

The biologist’s eyes went wide upon that information. “So you’re saying it only takes six years for an Arazi to go from ‘blank slate’ to ‘ready for work’?”

Chairman Fedri nodded. “How long does it take new Humans to reach broad competence?” He asked.

“At least eighteen years, usually,” the Human answered. “Though for work requiring higher education, it’s usually closer to twenty two. Your species must learn at an incredible rate!”

Teza picked up from there. “The Arazi worm demonstrates remarkable neuroplasticity compared to an uninfected Coltak brain. It also has a much higher neurogenesis baseline than any other adult animal recorded. As a result, we can learn at a pace far exceeding anything else on our planet.”

“Who is responsible for the Arazi while they’re being educated?” Isla cut in. “Are they raised by whoever infected them?”

“Of course not!” Fedri replied with a chuckle. “Why would we entrust new minds to those not tooled to properly assist them? My Board is responsible for raising fledglings into functional members of society.”

“Perhaps that seems strange to you…” interjected Teza, momentarily tossing a glare to Fedri for his insensitivity. “I presume Humans raise their own offspring, yes?”

Isla nodded. “Seems like a lot of power to be giving to the state if you let them do it instead.”

“We make sure that new Arazi are taught by those who fully understand how best to do so,” explained Teza. “Sires can, of course, choose to be put into contact with their fledglings once they complete basic education, but we view the formation of citizens to be too important a venture for privatization. Obviously this method would be unsuitable for many species, but it certainly functions for ours.”

“What does your ship run on?” Asked the Energy Chair, blurting out the question as their curiosity overwhelmed their decorum.

Another of the Humans leaned in, introducing himself as Wayne—their engineer. “It uses a miniaturized nuclear fusion reactor. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to discuss the exact specs of any of our technology with you.”

Disappointment and awe warred within the Energy Chair’s eyes as eventually he offered a respectful nod. Though from my understanding most of our grid was fission based, nuclear fusion represented an energy source we were only just beginning to grasp at. “I sincerely hope that your Second United Nations is eventually willing to share such information with us,” he concluded. “It would certainly do wonders to reduce our energy cost.”

“How does your economy work?” Asked Isla, immediately drawing the attention of our Economics Chair.

“Once an Arazi completes their education, they are assigned a job by the Labor Board in collaboration with the Boards related to their field,” explained the Economics Chair as on another screen the Labor Chair nodded along. “Every year, local Economics Boards calculate the minimum living wage and run it by my people. Employee wages are set as a percentage of that minimum, with the minimum for an employed Arazi being 120% of the minimum. If the Labor Board cannot find a job for an individual, they are supplied with 110% of minimum living wage while they continue searching.”

Of all the answers we gave, this one seemed to disturb the Humans less than most, though that wasn’t exactly saying much. “Do Arazi have a right to refuse their job placement?” Asked their Captain.

“If they are dissatisfied, they may submit a replacement application,” explained the Labor Board Chair. “This may or may not be honored. Otherwise, they can opt out of the system altogether, but in turn lose the basic wage. Many Arazi creatives do this once royalties for their work cover living costs.”

Mutual questioning continued for hours as the Chairs probed for more information and the Humans responded in kind. Eventually, an agreement was reached that the Humans would remain in orbit for three more days to speak with us, as this meeting was cut short by word from the Media and Civic Messaging Chair’s assistants that some amateur Arazi astronomers had already spotted the ship themselves. “We must prepare an official statement to get ahead of public panic,” the Chair explained. “For now, I must offer my sincerest thanks to you Humans for speaking with us.”

Shortly after they left, most of the other technicians were led out of the room, leaving behind only myself and perhaps two others to maintain the signal.

---------------------------------------------

Thank you all for continuing to read this. As always, please feel free to comment your thoughts (commenting is the best way to make sure I keep writing). Thank you all again for reading.

First...Previous

Chapter 15
Harrison Varga, Captain of FIND

“We, the Arazi, greet you.”

For a few seconds, the bridge of the FIND went dead quiet. Onscreen, the Arazi command room stared back at us: technicians huddled over consoles, armed personnel standing stiff behind them as though waiting for me to reach through the screen, and at the center of it all an elderly figure gripping a microphone like it weighed more than his whole body. This was not a quaint local official greeting us with a drink in his hand. This was a planet staring down the barrel of first contact and trying not to flinch.

“Chairman Oen,” I began carefully. “We hadn’t expected your people to reach out first. Allow me to extend a sincere apology for any anxieties that may have resulted from our arrival.”

Beside him, the Arazi in military garb festooned with medals regarded me with a suspicious glare. “Why are you here?” He demanded, his voice barely audible from over the headset microphone.

“We were sent by our government to investigate potentially life-bearing worlds,” I explained, keeping my posture and tone carefully measured. “As I said, we mean you no harm. Our immediate purpose here is to establish preliminary contact.”

Tension in the military Arazi’s posture softened slightly, but did not fully disappear. “You entered our star system without permission and accessed our networks,” he continued. “My name is Xand-5626481. I am this planet’s Chairman of Defense, so I trust you can understand my abundance of caution.”

“You’re right to be cautious,” I conceded. “We detected your public broadcasts during approach and used them to build a translation model so that we could learn more about your people and communicate with you directly. Rest assured, we didn’t access any critical systems, though we have detected target locks on our vessel.”

“A precaution,” Chairman Oen interjected with reassurance. “We have no intention of firing upon an exploration vessel. However, we request that you cease your approach and refrain from entering our atmosphere without authorization. In return, our batteries will remain fire-locked.”

Turning toward Alex, I gestured for him to initiate deceleration. “Consider it a deal,” I then told the two Chairmen. “I’m sure you have questions for us. We have some of our own, but given that this is your system, I think it’s only fair you ask yours first.”

“How did you arrive in our system?” Chairman Oen asked. As he spoke, I noticed a strange disjointedness to his voice—like two different audio recordings imperfectly mixed into each other. 

I nodded toward Cora as she came up behind me and began to explain what we were permitted to share. “We call them wormholes,” she explained. “Essentially, we use dark energy to stabilize punctures in spacetime, giving us a shortcut between stars.”

Oen’s expression did not change much, though behind him I saw various Arazi typing so furiously their fingers blurred. Clearly, our translation software had rendered the explanation sufficiently enough to astound them. 

Meanwhile, Xand’s attention remained firmly fixed upon me. “How many vessels like yours exist?” He asked.

“To our knowledge, this is the first,” I explained. “Our species, Humans, are new to this. FIND is our first true interstellar vessel.”

My response seemed to do little to further calm the Defense Chairman, as he regarded me with what I assumed to be incredulity. 

“Are we the first other species you’ve encountered?” Asked Oen.

“The second, actually,” replied Parker beside me, leaning over so that he could be seen on camera. He paused for a moment as he regarded the Arazi before us with cautious curiosity. “We, um… We looked through a public medical website to learn more about your people. Forgive me if this question sounds offensive, but when we’re speaking to you, what exactly are we conversing with?”

My eyes snapped toward Parker, and I almost cut him up before he could finish the question. However, it had to be asked eventually, and our xenobiologist at least sounded fascinated rather than disgusted.

Oen looked puzzled for a second by the inquiry, his eye twitching slightly as he contemplated it. Finally, his ears perked up as realization seemed to strike him. “Are you perhaps referring to our nature as parasites?” He asked, the equivalent term leaving his mouth bluntly, as though completely devoid of negative connotation.

Momentarily taken aback by the Chairman’s refusal to euphemize, Parker quickly regained his verbal footing and nodded stiffly. “Yes,” he replied. “I was wondering if we’re speaking to the worm or to the body?”

“One moment,” Oen told us, momentarily covering the mic with his hand as he conversed with the other Arazi in the room. Some looked excited by Lan’s response, others terrified. Finally uncovering the headset microphone, the Chairman continued. “Before we answer that, we’d like you to do some more clarification of your own. What are your kind, precisely?”

“We’re apes,” explained Parker. “Terrestrial mammals. The body you’re looking at right now is pretty much the full organism. We’ve never seen a case of parasitism as advanced as that employed by your kind.”

Oen listened along intently to Lan’s explanation, his ears twitching as though to indicate attention. “In that case,” he replied. “You are speaking to the Arazi worm, just the same as I am presumably speaking to whatever part of your brain controls higher thought.”

Behind the two Chairmen, another Arazi burst into the mission room. The presence of guards beside them suggested they were important—another chairman perhaps. Looking up at the screen displaying us, the new Arazi froze momentarily before immediately rushing over to Oen and Xand. Again, the Chairman of Space Sciences covered the microphone as he and Xand explained the situation to this third individual. 

“Apologies for the interruption,” Oen said to us. “This is Ethia, Chairwoman of Communications. She wishes to extend this communication to facilities where the other Chairs may speak. Is this acceptable?”

Turning to face Isla, I stood up from my chair and gestured for her to take a seat. “This seems like your domain,” I told her.

Carefully easing herself down into the captain’s chair, Isla nodded affirmatively to the Arazi request. “We have no objections to this,” she confirmed, immediately prompting Ethia to approach the terminal and type in commands.

“I gleaned from your broadcasts that Arazi civilization is ruled by the Executive Board,” Isla continued, her expression one I could best describe as a friendly poker face. “Might I ask a few questions pertaining to that?”

“Of course!” Ethia affirmed. “We will happily share any non-classified information.”

“How many seats are there on the Executive Board?” Isla asked, her notepad still in-hand as she held her pencil to it in preparation to document the Arazi answer.

“Twenty,” replied Oen, leaning over so that his voice could be heard clearly. “Each Chair holds authority over their respective domain. Cross-discipline work is negotiated between Chairs.”

Isla’s pencil slid across her paper in short, precise strokes. “And how are these Chairs selected?”

“By a weighted vote within their fields,” Ethia replied. “A Chair must be recognized by the domain they govern. Economists elect the Economics Chair. Medical scientists elect the Public Health Chair.”

“What do you weigh the votes by?” asked Isla, her expression tightening by maybe a millimeter.

“Education level,” answered Oen. “The more formal learning one has within a field, the more important their vote. With, of course, the exception of the Rights Chair. They are elected by universal citizen vote.”

Isla nodded along stiffly to the explanation, her lips retreating inward into a thin line. “What authority does the Rights Chair have over the other Chairs?” 

“The Rights Chair primarily adjudicates conflicts between the other Boards and on occasion vetoes decisions that violate our governing charter, which includes citizen protections,” explained Ethia.

Staring down at the notes on her pad, Isla hummed contemplatively, unsure perhaps of what to think of this system. “What counts as a citizen?” She asked.

Without hesitation, Ethia answered. “All awakened Arazi qualify as citizens.”

“And the Coltak?” asked Parker, cutting in abruptly.

Again, I almost stopped him. Almost. But each of us onboard the bridge had been thinking the same thing since he pulled up those medical scans, and the public back on Earth would surely ask the same thing were they here.

“I fear you may be overestimating the Coltak,” Oen replied, his expression twisting as though having tasted something sour. “They are intelligent, social animals, but they lack the hallmarks of true sapience. Language and higher abstract thought are beyond them. We protect them under animal rights laws, but they are not capable of participating directly in civilization.”

Coherent though it was, Oen’s answer nevertheless weighed upon the bridge like a chill given form. Meanwhile, on the Arazi side, I saw several technicians stop typing and stare up at the screen where our image was being projected. Xand’s large, expressive eyes peered into the terminal camera with an implacable intensity.

“You ask as though this troubles you,” noted Oen. “Could you perhaps explain why?”

Twice Isla opened her mouth as though to speak before closing it again. Finally, she seemed to come upon an explanation that satisfied her. “Among Humans, personhood is closely tied to continuity of consciousness. The idea of overriding or subordinating another raises serious ethical concerns for us.”

“That is understandable,” Oen replied, his demeanor calm yet strangely twitchy at the same time. “We do not assign moral valence to our evolution. It is merely how we are. For further questioning regarding our reproduction, perhaps it would be for the best if you spoke with the Reproductive Chair.”

Over the course of the next hour, more windows opened up onscreen to the remaining Arazi Chairs, revealing individuals who were all some different mix of anxious, curious, and awed by our presence. Each of the Chairs introduced themselves politely as Isla documented their positions.

“Now that we are all present,” began Xand minutes after the last two Chairs—those of Economics and Energy—logged on. “I believe that proper introductions are in order. We are the Executive Chairs of the Unified Directorate—the governing body of the Arazi people.”

Isla nodded. “We are the crew of the FIND vessel, representatives for the Human people and our international governing body, the Second United Nations.”

With the wonder of first contact still present on the Arazi side but now well under control, I climbed back up the ladder and went off to brew a fresh pot of coffee. I got the feeling this was going to be a long conference.

----------------------------------------------------

Hello, everyone. Sorry for the delay. I had to move out of my dorm after finals. As always, thank you all for reading and please leave comments on your thoughts if you want to see more.

First...Previous

Chapter 14
Kethis, Watch The Skies Senior Technician

Waking up to the setting sun shining through my pertran’s windshield and into my eyes, I stretched out my arms and stepped out into the Watch the Skies parking lot, dutifully marching in through the doors and up to the command center. “Anything new?” I asked Director Kask, stumbling over to a nearby table and grabbing a slice of cold zigzia ordered at noon before I stepped out.

“I thought I told you to go home,” Kask chuffed in something resembling amusement before handing me a cup of energizing jonit tea. “Labor Board restrictions place you well past the ten day overtime limit.”

I quickly downed the beverage, sighing in relief as color seemed to return to the world around me. “I’d say this more than qualifies for an emergency exception,” I told him, taking a bite of my cold breakfast. “If you’re so concerned, we can ask Executive Chairman Oen when he gets back.”

“Well, if I can’t get you to leave, the least you can do is stop standing around looking half-dead and check the reception logs. We need to know if this thing’s ignoring us, failing to understand, or if it’s just waiting for a better reason to respond.”

Wriggling my fingers to loosen them up, I typed the needed commands into my terminal and pulled up electromagnetic readings around the vessel. Despite my newfound energy, latent exhaustion had nevertheless hampered my coordination, forcing me to type slower and look over readings multiple times for understanding. 

As I sifted through the hours of radio silence, my thoughts returned for just a moment to the Coltak I’d infected days prior—the one who would host my fledgling. The first few months after awakening were confusing for everyone: not knowing the language, the law, or much of anything else. After three years of rudimentary education, Arazi citizens took the Official Professional Placement Exam to determine their life path. I had scored remarkably high on electrical engineering, and chose it over the four runner-ups because none of those particularly appealed to me. Running the signal tracer program again, I wondered passively what my fledgling would test for. Regardless of the career assigned to her, I hoped we could be friends.

Little by little, the tracer algorithm’s progress bar filled up like water from a barely-leaking faucet, occasionally jumping several percent in seconds before returning to its slow upward climb. “Where did Lon go?” I asked, swiveling my seat around to face the Director, who paused his usual hovering over the other workers to address me.

“Home,” Kask replied, folding his hands behind his back and staring up at the control room’s big screen. “He said his mate would be upset with him if he took any more overtime. You know how sexuals are.”

“Everyone’s allowed to be a little strange, I suppose.” Lon and his mate, Alcie, were good friends of mine. I never really understood their attraction, but they were decent people regardless. Usually, the Arazi worm suppresses the brain areas responsible for intimate desire; only about half a percent of us retained the impulse. Before and during the Ebene War, the Dalen Popular Union had oppressed sexuals fiercely, which led many of them to become willing spies for the Directorate.

Suddenly, the algorithm’s progress bar jumped to full height, giving me yet another readout. This time, however, something onscreen caught my eye. Clicking through the settings, I was able to isolate what looked like a handshake. “They’re accessing our internet,” I said, calling it out loudly enough for everyone in the mission room to hear. “It seems like they’ve established a connection through the Icolas Satellite. Low bandwidth, but deliberate.”

Silence fell over the mission room upon my proclamation, creating a brief stillness broken almost immediately by the torrent of voices that trailed behind it.

“We need to sever the satellite link,” barked General Ater, the highest security official in the room. “We cannot risk them breaching our systems.”

My underling, Junior Technician Ladon, moved to the terminal beside me to access satellite controls, but I held out my arm to stop him. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, General,” I began, offering a bow of deference to counterbalance my insubordinate words. “If we cut the feed, we might miss out on an opportunity to establish contact directly.”

Ater regarded me with a careful glare, as though he were measuring my nerve. “What do you suggest?”

“If we rotate the dish to bolster their signal, I might be able to use the satellite network to establish a direct noninvasive link. It’s not my decision, of course: I just want to make sure all of our options are known before we do anything drastic.”

Considering my words, the General did not bother to chew me out, turning instead toward one of his men. “Get me Oen. I don’t want a decision this important made without approval by a member of the Executive Board.”

Half an hour later, the Chairman was wheeled into the mission room. “What is it?” He demanded. “Have you received anything we can decode yet?”

“No sir,” Ater answered, pointing toward my monitor. “The object appears to be hooked up to Ebene’s internet. If we cut off their access through the Icolas Satellite, we could shut them out temporarily. The Senior Technician says that if we amplify it instead, he might be able to establish contact.”

Oen’s old face creased as he looked upon me with a curious expression. “How do you know that would even be possible?” He asked.

“Our guest already did the hard part of making the code compatible for connection,” I explained. “All I’d have to do is up the bandwidth and send them an invitation link.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Kask blurted out. “Kethis, I respect you sincerely, but we can’t risk giving the anomaly access to our systems.”

I rolled my eyes in negation. “They already have access to our systems. If we cut them off, they might assume hostility. Given how long they’ve been accessing our internet for, it would be reasonable to assume they can grasp at least rudimentary communication with us.”

The Director looked like he was about to argue back, but the words died in his throat when Chairman Oen stood up and stepped toward me. “Do it.” He commanded simply. “Every moment we waste could be the last one they stay connected for.”

My fingers danced across the keyboard like lightning as I accessed the satellite controls and commanded it to turn its dish away from us and out into the blackness of space. Planetary internet coverage fell by 4%, but I figured a few wilderness dead spots would be worth it if we could establish real first contact. Leaking a few extra lines of code into the datastream, I was eventually able to figure out the proper formatting needed. 

“I think I’ve got it,” I practically cheered before turning around to face Oen. “Should I send the invite?”

Oen glanced at his personal device for a moment, letting out a grumble of frustration. His eyes twitched in the way Sagamer eyes often did when they were arguing with themselves. “The Defense and Communications Executives are on their way. We give them fifteen minutes. If they’re not here by then, send the link.”

Time crawled by at a gruelingly slow pace as we awaited Oen’s fellow executives. There were twenty Executive Chairs in total, each one responsible for a different aspect of Arazi society. Oen himself was Chairman of the Astronomy Board. Chairmen were elected by those within their profession to coordinate them, with votes weighted by education level. The sole exception to this was the Rights Board, whose Chairman was elected by an unweighted vote from every citizen. 

Six minutes before Oen’s deadline, Defense Chairman Xand barged in at full speed, flanked on either side by his own pair of stonefaced bodyguards. “You’re planning to establish communication with it?” He huffed, still catching his breath from what no doubt had been a sprint into the office. “Are we confident there’s no risk in that?”

“If there was a path with zero risk, I’d have them take it,” Oen replied dryly, spinning around in his wheelchair to face his fellow Executive Board member. “This is the path that lets us determine the object’s purpose and the intent of any inhabitants.”

Taking a deep, recovering breath that must have calmed him by accident, Xand looked up at our visual on the ship. “We still have the lock-on, yes?” He demanded, looking at me with an icy glare.

“Yes sir,” I nodded, referring to the battery controls to make sure they were still ready to fire if things were to go south. “We have everything we need to intercept the object if hostility is confirmed.”

Xand offered no further resistance, instead turning away from me to coordinate with his military underlings. 

Minutes later, with Oen’s time allowance dry and no sign of Communications Chairwoman Ethia, I was given the go-ahead to send the link. My finger hovered over the key as I steadied myself in preparation. It felt almost wrong for it to be me sending something so important. Thinking back, I recalled a quote from a famous emperor who once ruled a large portion of Ebene. 

“History doesn’t wait for the right Arazi,” I began, overpowering my innate caution to finally press down on the ‘send’ key. “It forges them.”

Blackness awaited us on the main screen as everyone in the control room watched it with fearful anticipation. At first, when nobody responded, I was almost relieved. Perhaps it was for the best if we stayed in the dark for just a few days longer. 

“Did it send?” Kask murmured just loud enough to puncture the room’s silence. 

“It did,” I affirmed. “Anyone or anything onboard the vessel should have received our link. Now it’s just a matter of whether they’re in the mood for conversation.”

Seconds later, the big screen flickered as an image appeared before us: that of a creature strange, but recognizable in shape; almost like a furless hargalian—the evolutionary order that contained Coltak. After centuries of silence and uncertainty, the sky had acquired a face.

My breath caught in my throat as I waved the Chairs over to my monitor camera, where they could be seen and their voices heard. Onscreen, the figure regarded us with cautious eyes before at last announcing itself. “This is Captain Harrison Varga of the First Interstellar Navigational Deployment,” it began, the words translated into our language half a breath after being spoken. “My crew and I are representatives of the planet Earth and the Second United Nations. We do not intend to harm Ebene or its people. We request permission to speak.”

Rising from his wheelchair and staggering over to my desk, Oen picked up my headset and slowly held up its microphone. “My name is Oen-2089762. I am Chairman of the Unified Directorate’s Board of Astronomy and Space Sciences. We, the Arazi, greet you.”

----------------------------------------------------

Hello, dear reader. Author here. Just wanted to say thank you all again for continuing to read this story. As always, if you're interested in seeing more, please tell me your thoughts. I love reading comments that engage with my work.

First...Previous

Chapter 13

Harrison Varga, Captain of FIND

Four days after we first cracked an Arazi broadcast, FIND had settled into a new kind of routine. Wayne spent damn near every waking hour isolating more signal bands to shovel into our translation model as it spat back out footage for the rest of us to review. Each of the crew members latched onto something different about them, and at no point did I hear anything even adjacent to ‘this makes sense’. Every facet of these aliens offered some strange new inconsistency.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Wyatts began, turning toward Parker, Cora, Isla, and I as we all sat together on the bridge. Ian and Alex were asleep—a condition that after nearly twenty-four hours on shift was becoming increasingly appealing to me. “Good news is the translator’s cracked a couple more hours of programming. The bad news is it keeps getting confused on words, so we’ll have to review a lot of it manually.”

Isla perked up immediately as onscreen her eyes locked onto a file labeled ‘Ebene War Documentary’. “Let’s do that one first,” she all but demanded. Mentions of that conflict had appeared multiple times in news segments, but the details were sparse enough to drive a curious historian insane.

“Captain?” Wyatts asked, looking to me for approval to play the video and receiving it with a tacit nod. He clicked on the file, and immediately our screens darkened with grainy, black-and-white footage showing clips of Arazi shooting at each other, engaging in dog fights, and marching in ominous unison.

“The Ebene War was the greatest conflict this planet has ever known,” began a voice charmingly chopped up by low-quality audio. “It was this tragic war that led to the downfall of the Dalen Popular Union and the rise of the Orlessan Directorate into the Unified Directorate.” Isla furiously scribbled the names down onto her notepad. We knew about the Unified Directorate, which seemed to serve as the Arazi world government. However, this was the first time we were hearing about the balance of power before their consolidation.

Isla had spent most of two days prior to this trying to reverse-engineer the Arazi state from news anchors, civic programming, and sparsely populated nods to its procedures. Her working theory was that the Unified Directorate wasn’t a dictatorship in the simple sense, but rather a technocratic autocracy built on professional boards in the places we usually reserved for elected officials. “It’s important not to judge them immediately by Human standards,” she had told me multiple times. Though when she said it after seeing a reference to something called ‘the Reproductive Board’, I got the feeling it had been more for her than for me.

“To understand the Ebene War, one must first know of the Dalen Popular Union,” asserted the documentary’s voice as images appeared onscreen of a large segment of their planet colored differently from the rest. “Fifty-six years prior to unification, Dalen was a global superpower. Founded nearly a century before on a system of government unused since ancient antiquity, the Union represented Ebene’s sole attempt at a large-scale vote-based nation.”

Silence fell over the bridge as Wyatts paused the documentary to let us digest its framing. “Sounds like their Cold War came to a boil and democracy got kicked out of the kitchen. Anyone else hearing that?”

“More or less…” Lan nodded.

For a moment, Isla looked like she was going to comment on that. Instead, she gestured for Wayne for the ‘play’ button again.

“Despite its lofty ideals, Dalen failed in many regards. Unlike the carefully-managed Orlessan Directorate, the Union was founded on principles of a market separated from government control.” Onscreen, images of well-dressed Arazi standing before massive mansions were interspersed with footage of bread lines and Arazi sleeping on the street. “While this enabled massive wealth for individuals, so too did it create a cavernous gap in living standards. Without wise individuals to govern the flow of commerce, many citizens went without vital services.”

From there, the documentary went on to spend another half-hour detailing the myriad failures of the Dalen government. Of course, it wasn’t abnormal for nations to shit-talk opponents once they could no longer say anything back. What was striking, however, was the sheer quantity of receipts they brought to the table backing it all up. Spending reports, footage from speeches, interviews with former citizens: all of it came together to paint a remarkably clear and rather unflattering picture. 

“What’s your read on this, Isla?” I asked. “Smells like propaganda to me, but those political speeches don’t feel like scripted caricatures.”

“Not all propaganda is purely false,” Isla noted, glaring at her screen as though doing so might intimidate the truth out of it. “More than likely, this is an exaggerated account of real problems. You know that old saying: ‘war doesn’t determine who is right; only who is left’. This is a documentary written by the latter, not necessarily the former.”

Perhaps the strangest aspects of the documentary weren’t political at all. “Have any of you seen an Arazi child?” Parker asked as onscreen footage of city life played. “Not just in this documentary: in any Arazi footage?”

At first, Cora looked at him like he was crazy. However, as she opened her mouth to speak, the realization seemed to hit her too. “I… Haven’t. Not to be morbid, but you’d think if they wanted to show how awful their enemy was, they’d show a starving kid for sympathy bait; but all the Arazi we’ve seen look like adults.”

“Maybe they have some kind of laws against using that footage?” Isla replied, momentarily scanning back through the video for any trace of an infant Arazi. 

Unlinking my own computer from the documentary footage, I sifted through news segments and advertisements in search of children’s programming, family ads, anything that might break through the conspicuous absence. Pulling up the incomplete, AI-assembled database, I typed in the word ‘parent’ and to my surprise found no direct translation. “Okay, this is getting weird…”

Unbeknownst to me, it was about to get weirder.

Returning to the documentary, Arazi historians were discussing how discrimination by the Dalen created a ready supply of spies. “Among the groups mistreated by the Dalen were the disabled, the poor, and the sexuals.”

“I’m sorry, what was that last one?” Lan asked, turning toward the rest of us with utter confusion written across his face. “Wyatts: I think our computer might have had a stroke.”

Pausing the footage again, Wayne opened the translator tab and highlighted that term, typing in a command for the computer to define it. 

//Sexuals (plural noun): Arazi who participate in behaviors such as mating and pair-bonding. Certainty: 96%//

For a few seconds, nobody said anything. Parker squinted at the term, the gears in his mind near-audibly churning as he tried to piece together what the hell that could possibly mean. “Are we absolutely sure that that’s not a translation artifact?” He asked, turning toward Wyatts.

“Man: if only there was a percentile onscreen showing how certain the computer was,” Wayne replied sarcastically, nevertheless typing in more commands in search of where exactly the translator was pulling that term from. 

“Okay, so what I’m getting from all this is no parents, no visible children, and a historically-persecuted social category for those with sexuality…” Isla began, looking over her own notes in search of more hints that might point us to the truth. “Maybe it’s like a breeder caste? I mean, that would explain the Reproductive Board and lack of visible children.”

“Or…” Parker interrupted, “we might be making an assumption about their biology that’s fundamentally wrong.” Opening up the database, he typed in the term ‘Reproductive Board’ and pulled up all references to it, carefully reading through them in search of anything the translator might have missed or left out. 

After a few minutes, his attention snagged on something. “It says here the Reproductive Board manages what the computer is translating to ‘wildlife’ sanctuaries. There are loads of references to something called a Coltak. Wayne: Do we have anything that can find an image of one of these?”

Leaving behind the war documentary, Wayne typed in a handful of key words before eventually landing on another piece of footage. Pulling it up, we saw what looked like Arazi, only they were unclothed, swinging through the trees. “Our species has a unique relationship with the Coltak,” proclaimed a narrator. “For untold evolutionary time, the Arazi worm has embroiled itself in a tense dance of survival with these creatures.”

“Did it just mention a ‘worm’?” Cora asked.

Lan didn’t offer a reply as he feverishly continued his search for more information, this time typing in the word ‘Arazi’ to the database and lowering the certainty threshold until a second definition appeared. 

Arazi (noun): a species of parasitic organism.

Isla looked like she’d just tasted something bitter. “Why would they name a parasite after themselves?” She asked.

“I have a theory,” Parker half-whispered, recompiling the database and sifting through it for any and all references to parasites, worms, and Coltak. “What if what we’re looking at isn’t the real Arazi?”

“Elaborate on that,” I demanded, unsure what exactly our xenobiologist was poking at.

“Give me an hour to sit through all this,” he replied. “Wyatts: how long until we can access their internet?”

Our engineer switched to the signal receiver tab. “Depends: what are your thoughts on dial-up?” He snarked. “Because I can maybe give you a connection right now that’ll make it look crisp by comparison.”

“Just hook me up,” Parker said, his tone unusually flat and calculating.

For the next hour, Isla, Cora, and I continued watching the documentary, playing and replaying sections that yielded potentially-valuable information. Isla had assembled a decent picture of their government, but certain facets of daily life remained shrouded in mystery. 

“Oh my god…” Parker murmured aloud, immediately drawing our attention to his screen as a series of medical scans appeared. All of us leaned in for a better look as he showed what looked like an MRI or CAT scan. The first image looked mostly normal: just the brain of an apelike organism. In the next image, though, a small mass could be seen parked atop it, and with each subsequent image, it grew and subsumed parts of the original brain. 

At first, I thought it was some kind of tumor; maybe this was an oncology website? Upon closer inspection, though, new details came into view that didn’t match up. “Is that a worm?”

“That,” Parker began, his tone stuck somewhere between reverence for evolution’s creativity and horror for its application. “Is the Arazi.”

My mind wrapped itself around the concept like a runaway car around a tree: rapidly and violently. I saw Isla recoil slightly as she too seemed to grasp the implications. “Are you telling me these are sapient parasites?” I asked.

“More or less…” Lan replied, scrolling down to a diagram of the foreign mass. “Earth has versions of this. Hairworms that force grasshoppers to jump into water, toxoplasmosis making rats easy prey for cats, even fungi like cordyceps hijacking ants. Same principle, but it’s like comparing a toddler with floaties to an olympic swimmer.”

“Do you think it can infect Humans?” I followed up, my question seemingly lowering the bridge’s temperature by several degrees. 

Lan shook his head vehemently. “For a multicellular parasite to exercise this kind of broad control, it’d need to be hyper-specialized. No reason not to be cautious, but I’d say chances of it being able to infect us are astronomically low.”

“What’s the status of the Coltak?” Isla asked, her voice somewhat tight. “Does its consciousness survive the process at all?”

“Not likely,” Parker replied, taking a closer look at the first and final scans as he compared differences between them. “What we’re looking at is an unprecedented neutral renovation. Most of the higher thought centers are either consumed or restructured by the Arazi worm. Setting aside any moral conundrums, it’s definitely impressive.”

Wayne let out a sigh. “Great: so they’re body-snatchers. Earth is definitely not going to be normal about these ones,” he concluded.

“Regardless of their origins,” Cora began, “they’re still people. We owe it to them not to judge before we’ve made real contact.”

I nodded along to her statement, glancing at the charted course that had us reaching them in only three more days. “Wyatts, keep us on course. I need to sleep on this and figure out how we’re going to handle contact.”

——————————————-

Hello, everyone. Hope you enjoy this installment. As always, please comment your thoughts if you want to see more!