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Third Contact
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native vegetation. We could have gotten to the shore of the tiny lagoon faster if we had simply hacked a direct path with machetes through the dense undergrowth, but Contact Protocols called for the Encounter Team to be as unobtrusive as possible, respecting the planet’s flora and fauna as we moved across the alien landscape.
All things considered, it’s a wise policy. We were visitors to this world. It was prudent and proper to leave as light a footprint as possible. In our zeal to explore, we needed to be careful not to trample underfoot the very kinds of organisms we were trying to investigate. Also, aspects of the Protocol were for the safety and protection of the human explorers as much as the preservation of the native lifeforms. Plants which seemed harmless in an initial phytoscan could still sometimes provoke severe allergic reactions, or worse. The risk of potential exposure to biotoxins was a reason I felt relieved that the Doc was accompanying us again, particularly on this outing.
We were the third team of scientists from the expedition to make the hike down to the lagoon. Earlier in the week, Commander Holden had led the other two survey parties, and the contacts had been quite productive, going about as well as one could expect when such radically different species meet each other for the first time. The initial encounter on the beach had been brief, nothing more than a general greeting, of sorts, a peaceful “hello” to each other in order to confirm our good intentions, build confidence and allay any fears. The second encounter had been all about mathematics, physics and astronomy, as if the aliens were trying to assure us of their technological prowess despite their decidedly aquatic appearance. Perhaps they simply intended to lay out a framework of common interests and opportunities for future collaborations. The aliens had requested that this third encounter include an in-depth exchange of information about our relative biologies, comparative biochemistries, physiologies and such, so we were ferrying along the appropriate sets of DNA samples and tissue specimens.
And, in part, the nature of the request explained the makeup of this Encounter Team. The Doc could field any medical questions about human anatomy the aliens might pose, Lt. Eckhert held advanced degrees in aquatic biology and marine ecology, and I was the expedition’s chief environmental chemist. If a thing could form into molecules, then it fell squarely within my purview. If it was made of molecules and began to crawl, then I had to defer to the Commander. Velara was a molecular geneticist and the expedition’s lead exobiologist, brilliant in her own right, with enough advanced degrees to make the rest of us feel like a bunch of graduate students.
But more than that, Velara was a magnificent example of the human female form; if you ever wanted an alien, nonhuman species to observe what a human female should look like, Velara Holden was a superb type specimen. She was strong and healthy, athletic in a way which did nothing to diminish her femininity. She kept a mane of gorgeous golden-blonde hair down below her shoulders despite the inconvenience of having to maintain it that way while on a mission. Her hazel eyes were radiant and her lips rich and inviting, except when she scowled in deep concentration as she poured over some troublesome technical detail.
Of course, there might be a considerable lack of scientific objectivity in my description of Velara. That’s mostly because I’m married to her.
The alien race called themselves, in their own Cetacean-like language, something which sounded to human ears like a rapid series of high-pitched swooshes, hisses, and pops. The name of their collective came across in translation, though, as “Shepherds of the Tides.” They were semi-aquatic beings who resided, for the most part, in the shallow seas of this planet, but who could leave their favored environment at will for extended periods of time. Their biochemistry appeared surprisingly similar to terrestrial marine life, except that given a choice, the aliens preferred to breathe methane rather than oxygen. Their complex respiratory systems appeared equally capable of handling both, extracting the required gases from either the atmosphere or aquatic solution as needed. The first contact team reported that beneath their ocean’s surface, the “Shepherds” were both graceful and efficient. On land, however, lacking support from the water’s natural buoyancy, they were forced to hold themselves awkwardly erect on a grotesque tangle of a half-dozen muscular tentacles, each nearly two meters in length and as big around as a man’s forearm. Their upper torso was surrounded by another six smaller articulated appendages, giving them the overall appearance of an unlikely cross between a six-legged octopus and a praying mantis.
The alien head was oblong and somewhat bulbous, supporting a trio of eyes near the top of the face. The eyes to either side of the long nasal ridge were vaguely mammalian in appearance, but the large central eye was unmistakably squid-like. Below was a pair of openings, presumably mouths of some sort. Back at the ship, out of earshot of the aliens, some of the members of the expedition had taken to calling them “Three-Eyes.” However, in my opinion, such a unique and apparently capable species was undeserving of such an unflattering moniker.
It was late afternoon when we arrived at the aliens’ appointed spot, a curious semi-circle of boulders at the edge of a shallow lagoon. The ring of volcanic stone made the gathering place look suspiciously like an amphitheatre. I wondered if this was a favored Shepherd ceremonial site, or if perhaps humans were not the first off-world species to make contact. The tangerine-colored sun was sinking rapidly toward the milky horizon, and I quickly estimated that the team had an hour at most until sunset. We dropped our backpacks well above the highest high-tide line and immediately began making camp while we still had daylight. Regardless of the duration of the encounter this time, we’d stay in the contact zone overnight; I wasn’t excited about trying to make the return trek to the ship in the dark. Owing to their smaller diameters and darker surfaces, even a three-moon night on this world was considerably less brilliant that a full moon one on Earth.
A tree had fallen near the edge of the water, and I resisted the urge to collect the dead limbs and build a camp fire. The Protocols ruled that out. Instead, we set up some lamps around the perimeter of the campsite. After a quick meal, we deployed the exchange package and the translation equipment in the center of the semi-circle of boulders, just as the previous two teams had done.
After that, there was nothing else to do then but wait. And wonder.
All things considered, it’s a wise policy. We were visitors to this world. It was prudent and proper to leave as light a footprint as possible. In our zeal to explore, we needed to be careful not to trample underfoot the very kinds of organisms we were trying to investigate. Also, aspects of the Protocol were for the safety and protection of the human explorers as much as the preservation of the native lifeforms. Plants which seemed harmless in an initial phytoscan could still sometimes provoke severe allergic reactions, or worse. The risk of potential exposure to biotoxins was a reason I felt relieved that the Doc was accompanying us again, particularly on this outing.
We were the third team of scientists from the expedition to make the hike down to the lagoon. Earlier in the week, Commander Holden had led the other two survey parties, and the contacts had been quite productive, going about as well as one could expect when such radically different species meet each other for the first time. The initial encounter on the beach had been brief, nothing more than a general greeting, of sorts, a peaceful “hello” to each other in order to confirm our good intentions, build confidence and allay any fears. The second encounter had been all about mathematics, physics and astronomy, as if the aliens were trying to assure us of their technological prowess despite their decidedly aquatic appearance. Perhaps they simply intended to lay out a framework of common interests and opportunities for future collaborations. The aliens had requested that this third encounter include an in-depth exchange of information about our relative biologies, comparative biochemistries, physiologies and such, so we were ferrying along the appropriate sets of DNA samples and tissue specimens.
And, in part, the nature of the request explained the makeup of this Encounter Team. The Doc could field any medical questions about human anatomy the aliens might pose, Lt. Eckhert held advanced degrees in aquatic biology and marine ecology, and I was the expedition’s chief environmental chemist. If a thing could form into molecules, then it fell squarely within my purview. If it was made of molecules and began to crawl, then I had to defer to the Commander. Velara was a molecular geneticist and the expedition’s lead exobiologist, brilliant in her own right, with enough advanced degrees to make the rest of us feel like a bunch of graduate students.
But more than that, Velara was a magnificent example of the human female form; if you ever wanted an alien, nonhuman species to observe what a human female should look like, Velara Holden was a superb type specimen. She was strong and healthy, athletic in a way which did nothing to diminish her femininity. She kept a mane of gorgeous golden-blonde hair down below her shoulders despite the inconvenience of having to maintain it that way while on a mission. Her hazel eyes were radiant and her lips rich and inviting, except when she scowled in deep concentration as she poured over some troublesome technical detail.
Of course, there might be a considerable lack of scientific objectivity in my description of Velara. That’s mostly because I’m married to her.
The alien race called themselves, in their own Cetacean-like language, something which sounded to human ears like a rapid series of high-pitched swooshes, hisses, and pops. The name of their collective came across in translation, though, as “Shepherds of the Tides.” They were semi-aquatic beings who resided, for the most part, in the shallow seas of this planet, but who could leave their favored environment at will for extended periods of time. Their biochemistry appeared surprisingly similar to terrestrial marine life, except that given a choice, the aliens preferred to breathe methane rather than oxygen. Their complex respiratory systems appeared equally capable of handling both, extracting the required gases from either the atmosphere or aquatic solution as needed. The first contact team reported that beneath their ocean’s surface, the “Shepherds” were both graceful and efficient. On land, however, lacking support from the water’s natural buoyancy, they were forced to hold themselves awkwardly erect on a grotesque tangle of a half-dozen muscular tentacles, each nearly two meters in length and as big around as a man’s forearm. Their upper torso was surrounded by another six smaller articulated appendages, giving them the overall appearance of an unlikely cross between a six-legged octopus and a praying mantis.
The alien head was oblong and somewhat bulbous, supporting a trio of eyes near the top of the face. The eyes to either side of the long nasal ridge were vaguely mammalian in appearance, but the large central eye was unmistakably squid-like. Below was a pair of openings, presumably mouths of some sort. Back at the ship, out of earshot of the aliens, some of the members of the expedition had taken to calling them “Three-Eyes.” However, in my opinion, such a unique and apparently capable species was undeserving of such an unflattering moniker.
It was late afternoon when we arrived at the aliens’ appointed spot, a curious semi-circle of boulders at the edge of a shallow lagoon. The ring of volcanic stone made the gathering place look suspiciously like an amphitheatre. I wondered if this was a favored Shepherd ceremonial site, or if perhaps humans were not the first off-world species to make contact. The tangerine-colored sun was sinking rapidly toward the milky horizon, and I quickly estimated that the team had an hour at most until sunset. We dropped our backpacks well above the highest high-tide line and immediately began making camp while we still had daylight. Regardless of the duration of the encounter this time, we’d stay in the contact zone overnight; I wasn’t excited about trying to make the return trek to the ship in the dark. Owing to their smaller diameters and darker surfaces, even a three-moon night on this world was considerably less brilliant that a full moon one on Earth.
A tree had fallen near the edge of the water, and I resisted the urge to collect the dead limbs and build a camp fire. The Protocols ruled that out. Instead, we set up some lamps around the perimeter of the campsite. After a quick meal, we deployed the exchange package and the translation equipment in the center of the semi-circle of boulders, just as the previous two teams had done.
After that, there was nothing else to do then but wait. And wonder.
Excerpt from Third Contact and accompanying art copyright © 2015 by Joe T. Coxwell. All rights reserved.
