Space Force: Building The Legacy

by Doug Irvin (Editor)

  ​A short woman in green scrubs emerged from the car carrying a dufflebag.

  ​The woman walked up to Micheletti. ‘ANNE QUAM, DVM’ was embroidered over the chest pocket of the shirt. “I can handle being recalled to active duty. But this is almost kidnapping. I’ve haven’t been told anything.”

  ​ “I’m sorry. I can’t explain much now. Once we take off I can tell you everything.” He pointed at the rocket.

  ​She set her hands on her hips. “I’m not getting on that thing without an explanation.”

  ​“I can’t yet. I’m just going to say, this is real. It’s important. Probably the most important thing we’ll ever be involved in. General McNair thinks you can help me. I predict when this all comes out you’d regret not being part of it.”

  ​She didn’t say anything. Micheletti added, “Plus you’re getting a free trip to the Moon.”

  ​“All right. But this better be good.”

  ​They walked to the elevator beside the rocket. The sergeant handed them the dufflebags and saluted. “Good luck, sir, ma’am.”

  ​“Thank you, sergeant.”

  ​Micheletti looked at his assistant. “Have you worked with arthropods much?”

  ​“Some. I’m a vet at the National Zoo so I see everything. I saved a tarantula who got three legs caught in a door.”

  ​“Ah.”

  ​“What’s the big deal about a spider?”

  ​“Wait a few.”

  ​The elevator delivered them to the Lunar Transfer Vehicle on top of the booster. It would take them straight to the Moon, refuel, and return to Earth. They were the only passengers. The crew strapped them in then retreated to the cockpit, promising to launch as soon as they were in their seats.

  ​Launches were normally tightly scheduled to stay clear of other traffic. This was not normal.

  ​The engines pressed them into the seats as they launched at three gees acceleration. It was quieter than he’d expected. They were leaving the noise behind.

  ​After a few minutes the thrust stopped. Micheletti felt the amusement park “I’m falling” sensation. It kept going. He was in space, for real.

  ​“Ready for the story?” asked Micheletti.

  ​“Yes.”

  ​He described the situation, the briefings he’d been given, and what they would do.

  ​“Okay, I lied,” said Dr. Quam. “I wasn’t ready for that. I don’t think anyone could be ready for that. Do you believe this?”

  ​“Yes. Sometimes I think it’s just a big practical joke but McNair isn’t a practical joke kind of guy. Even if he was, how could he get you called up and this flight reserved unless it was real?”

  ​“That makes sense. But still—hard to accept.”

  ​“I’ve known about it for, hmm, nineteen hours and I’m still having a hard time. Let’s see what our orders are.”

  ​Micheletti opened the envelope and read the letter aloud. “Captain Alan Micheletti. You are hereby appointed the acting US ambassador to the alien visitors. You may requisition all support you need from local Space Force units. Your mission is to establish communication with the visitors and come to the best agreement possible. If they want something small, give it to them. If they want something big, explain that the President and Senate have to approve treaties. Negotiate something fair. Don’t give away the homeworld. Do us proud. Ronald McNair III, Major General, United States Space Force.”

  ​“No pressure,” said Dr. Quam.

  ​“Yeah. Let’s see what’s in the readers.” He handed one of the readers full of classified information to her.

  ​The Procellarum Outpost crew had made progress in a week. After several experiments they’d focused on teaching the aliens written English. Numbers and the periodic table had been taught. The aliens had brought out a beaker of water labeled ‘HOH’ as confirmation of understanding.

  ​Micheletti discovered a set of pictures of the alien ship. One of the outpost crew had walked out on the surface, capturing every angle. Hoppers bringing supplies in took pictures from above.

  ​“My God,” he said. “Look at this.” He linked a picture to her reader.

  ​“Looks like a ball of intestines,” muttered Quam. “And their landing gear looks like an elm branch.”

  ​“Not that. Look how the landing gear is shoved into the regolith.”

  ​“Made a footprint. So?”

  ​“All the ship did was make footprints. Other than that the surface is completely undisturbed. This didn’t land with rockets or lithobrake or anything we know how to do.”

  ​Quam said, “They came from another star. They have to have tricks we don’t.”

  ​None of the interactions with the aliens even hinted at why they were here.

  ​The outpost commander, Major Turley, met them at the airlock. After introductions Micheletti asked, “How much progress have you in the three days we were in flight?”

  ​“Not much. We’re past the low hanging fruit so learning is stalled. Plus my people are all frazzled from dealing with—them.”

  ​“Have you been talking with them at all?”

  ​“Yes, a few hours each day. We taught them the names of body parts.”

  ​Micheletti paused a second. “I see. Do you know their sleep schedule?”

  ​“No. There’s always one in the bubble when we go in. We’ve identified five different bugs so far.”

  ​“Major. They are not bugs. Or things, or spiders, or whatever other nickname people have come up with. They are Visitors. Intelligent people from another world. We will call them Visitors until we learn their proper name then we will use that. Is that clear?”

  ​“Yes.”

  ​Micheletti cocked his head in an expression he normally only used on one stripers or slow second lieutenants. His newly issued flight suit had his name but no other insignia. He wasn’t sure how much rank ambassador carried but he was sure it outranked majors.

  ​“Yes, sir,” said Turley.

  ​“Good. See to it all your people understand. Now have our gear taken to our quarters. Dr. Quam and I will see the aliens now.”

  ​The ‘Bubble’ was a dome sixty-one feet across. The aliens produced it an hour after landing. A short tunnel connected it to their ship. An airlock on the other side faced the outpost. The crew had set up a connecting tunnel, making it possible to see the aliens without putting a spacesuit on.

  ​They went through the tunnel to the shimmering black of the alien dome. Seams marked the airlock. Micheletti touched the seam dividing it vertically. The door drew apart as if it were two curtains. They stepped through. When he touched the seam on the inner door, the outer one pulled closed before the inner opened.

  ​They could see the dome. Bright light shone from the apex. At the far side an alien emerged.

  ​Micheletti walked toward it. He had no room in his head for thoughts. It was filled with the feeling of realness.

  ​Some part of him had kept thinking that this must be some exercise. An elaborate, psychological test to see how officers would react to aliens. But no. This was real.

  ​It wasn’t one thing. It was everything. The tick of its legs on the hard floor. The multiple hisses of its breathing. The smell—dense, oily, sweet, complicated. Nothing like the scent of his tarantula. It was like the scented candle shop Julie had dragged him into.

  ​Detritus of previous sessions was scattered about. A periodic table taped together from sheets of typing paper hung on one side.

  ​They stopped an alien-width apart. “Hello,” said Micheletti.

  ​“Hello,” answered the alien, in a voice like a church organ, many tones all mixed together.

  ​“I’m Ambassador Micheletti. This is my assistant, Dr. Quam.”

  ​The alien picked up one of the white rectangles they’d produced after being introduced to the human alphabet. Two legs held it while a third wrote, ‘HELLO.’

  ​Its handwriting was crisp. In fact, it looked like a sans-
serif font. Micheletti picked up one of the panels lying by his feet. He wrote ‘HELLO’ with his finger and held it out toward the alien. No, the panel didn’t clean up his handwriting. The letters were just as he scrawled them.

  ​A wave of his arm blanked the panel. He wrote, ‘I CAME FROM EARTH.’

  ​The alien replied ‘?’.

  ​At least the outpost team had established a way to say, “I don’t understand.”

  ​“Right. Anne, let’s put four of these together. I want to do a diagram of the solar system.”

  ​After clearing up a confusion over it being a chemistry diagram, over several hours they established the names of the planets, that they were on the Moon, and that they’d come there on ‘SPACESHIP.’

  ​When they finished the session they discovered the alien could also say “Goodbye” in its organ voice.

  ​When the airlock closed behind them Quam let out a sigh.

  ​“Did you see the mouth structure?” she asked.

  ​“I wasn’t looking much at it.”

  ​“It’s serrated, like a bear trap. The teeth had sharp points. They’re carnivores.”

  ​“Well, so are we. Our front teeth are meat-cutters.”

  ​“Mmmm.”

  ​As they went into the outpost he said, “Given how today went I don’t think we’re up to asking where they came from. We need to improve our vocabulary first.”

  ​Major Turley was waiting to escort them to their quarters. It was a hastily converted science lab now equipped with hammocks and privacy curtains. Micheletti suspected there were some pissed off scientists out there.

  ​A spacer arrived with two trays of hot stew. Micheletti’s stomach rumbled.

  ​“Let me know if you need anything else,” said the major, preparing to follow the spacer out.

  ​“Yes,” said Micheletti. “Get a sixth-grade dictionary and encyclopedia. Print it out.”

  ​“Um, there’s not much paper in the Moon. We used most of ours for visual aids. We’d need to send to Tycho or South Pole for a book’s worth.”

  ​“Fine. Have them print it and send it by hopper.”

  ​“But—” protested the major.

  ​“Whatever it is, I don’t care,” snapped Micheletti. He was tired, hungry, and didn’t know if the aliens were tourists or wanted to conquer the world. “Use my authority. Call in McNair if you have to.”

  ​He stopped and took a calming breath. “Major. I’m going to eat, sleep, and get ready for the next negotiation. Twelve hours from now I want those books to hand to the Visitors. Make it happen.”

  ​“Yes, sir.”

  ​The rehydrated stew wasn’t good by Earth standards but Micheletti inhaled it. He told Quam she was welcome to his dessert and fell into his hammock.

  ​He woke to Quam announcing, “They delivered breakfast.” He gave himself a hasty sponge bath and dressed in a fresh flightsuit.

  ​The muffin was rehydrated but still warm from the microwave.

  ​“Why sixth grade books?” asked Dr. Quam.

  ​“They’re smart. They were picking up on what we said yesterday and testing it. Saying it right and wrong to get confirmation. I think they can figure out words from the books and ask questions. Which questions they ask will explain why they’re here.”

  ​“Okay.”

  ​Major Turley arrived to report. “Mr. Ambassador, the hopper from Tycho is en route with your dictionary. South Pole Base is still printing the encyclopedia. A hopper is standing by. It will arrive two hours after your deadline.”

  ​Time for diplomacy. “Thank you, Major. That will do. I appreciate your hard work making that happen.”

  ​Planning the next session and gathering the props for it took two hours. Then they were back in the dome facing the Visitor. Micheletti stepped to almost arms-reach, set the unbound pages of the dictionary on the floor, and turned a few double-sided pages to show the contents.

  Then he stepped back to his usual spot.

  ​The Visitor reached out with one leg. Micheletti noticed that while most of the legs ended in a pair of hard claws, the front two were tipped with dozens of fine tendrils. Those let it turn pages with only a single leg.

  ​Micheletti shifted a few steps to the side. He picked up a writing panel and began the next vocabulary lesson.

  ​The Visitor abandoned the dictionary and moved to face him. A minute later a second one emerged from the airlock.

  ​Quam stepped back. Micheletti couldn’t blame her. The Visitors were big. Two of them made the bubble feel crowded.

  ​The new one neatly stacked the pages of the dictionary and carried it out.

  ​His goal for the day was to teach the metric system. A meter stick and a one kilogram weight borrowed from the labs served as references. The hard part was establishing the concepts of length, area, volume, mass, and time.

  ​They were interrupted by the arrival of the encyclopedia. The outpost side curtain parted, a hand placed a stack of paper on the floor, and it closed again. Micheletti carried it into neutral territory.

  ​The second Visitor emerged and carried off the book.

  ​Micheletti and Quam went back to explaining mass.

  ​Sometimes when the Visitor was stuck it would converse with its shipmates. The clashing organs weren’t melodic but the sound was still oddly beautiful to Micheletti.

  ​At the end of the day he wrote ‘EARTH GRAVITY 9.8 M/S/S’ on a panel and was confident the Visitor understood. Then he wrote ‘YOU GRAVITY ?’

  ​That produced another conversation. At last the Visitor wrote ‘GRAVITY 2.3 M/S/S.’

  ​As they exited the bubble Micheletti exulted, “No chance of conquest now. Living on Earth would kill them.”

  ​Dr. Quam shuddered. “Good. Thank God we’re done for the day.”

  ​“Are you okay?”

  ​“Yeah. It’s just—” She stopped in the middle of the tunnel. “I’m used to working with predators bigger than I am. I’ve done dentistry on a Bengal tiger. But it was sedated and strapped to a board. The Visitor could take a bite whenever it wants.”

  ​He thought on that. “Do you need a break?”

  ​“Not yet. This is important work. I’ll let you know when I’m close to my limit.”

  ​That night he sent a report off to McNair. “The aliens would be crushed to death if they landed on Earth” would be reassuring to the politicians.

  ​Biology provided the next two days of vocabulary development. The Visitor claimed to eat leaves as well as animals.

  ​Then the Visitor wanted to talk about more abstract concepts. ‘HOME’ was not hard to explain. ‘WRONG’ they defined as a mathematical error, not having any words in common to tackle the moral interpretation. Dozens of others were explained. Then came ‘STEAL.’

  ​The humans looked at each other. Micheletti spread his hands in bafflement.

  ​Dr. Quam said, “Knock me down and take my reader.”

  ​“Knock you down?”

  ​“It’s the Moon. You could bounce me off the wall and it wouldn’t hurt me.”

  ​“Right.” He wrote ‘STEAL’ on a panel and held it as he grabbed her reader, bodychecked her to the floor, and walked away holding the reader high.

  ​Then he wiped the panel clear and gave the reader back.

  ​The Visitor didn’t ask any more questions. They called it a day.

  ​Once in private Dr. Quam asked, “Why do they want to know what steal means?”

  ​“I don’t know, but I bet it’s important.” He sent another report to McNair that night. Tycho’s cryptography system had been moved here complete with its staff. Major Turley sent six crew back on the hopper that brought them to reduce the strain on the outpost’s life support.

  ​The next day there were five Visitors in the bubble when they came in. Two stood at the midline as usual. The other three were behind them along the edge, legs folded under their bellies.

  ​A stack of writing panels lay bet
ween the front two.

  Quam froze in the airlock. Micheletti sympathized. It was a hell of a sight. The smell was stronger too. He’d tuned it out with one. Now he was back in that damn candle shop with every scent poking at him.

  ​He took four steps forward then looked back. “Looks like they’re going to make a big announcement. I’d hate to miss it.”

  ​“Right. I’m coming,” she muttered. She followed him to the middle but stayed a few paces behind.

  ​“Hello, everyone,” said Micheletti.

  ​“Hello.” “Hello.” “Hello.” “Hello.” “Hello.” The organs were tuned differently. Some hit low notes that made a quiver in his guts.

  ​One visitor picked up a panel. It said, ‘PEOPLE LIVE HOME’ with a picture of a world. Blue and green patches peeked through swirling clouds.

  ​‘PIRATES STEAL HOME.’ This had a wavy black flag with a skull and crossbones. Micheletti suppressed a laugh. It must be copied from the children’s encyclopedia.

  ​‘PEOPLE RUN AWAY.’ Illustrated with nine ships in the intestinal design style of the one outside the bubble.

  ​‘NEW HOME WANT.’ A picture of the Moon.

  ​‘LAND TRADE KNOW.’ More pictures from the encyclopedia: rocket, computer, factory, test tubes.

  ​“Refugees,” said Dr. Quam.

  ​“Trading technology for a place to live. That sounds like a fair deal.” Micheletti swallowed. “Oh, God. I have to explain the government to them.”

  ​“And we need to understand theirs before we let them stay.”

  ​“Yeah. Where to begin?”

  ​They started with an example they’d used the previous day to explain ‘team’: a group of workers each making different parts of a car. Now they added a ‘boss’ who assigned workers to each task.

  ​Once that was established they introduced a boss of bosses, and then added another level to the hierarchy, and another. The Visitors tested their understanding by showing right and wrong versions of the concept, finishing with the right one.

  ​Putting a committee in the top boss role took hours to get across. Decisions by majority and two-thirds took many examples and counter-examples to clarify.

  ​One of the front-line Visitors folded its legs, dropping its torso onto the floor. Two of the back row ones moved up and shook it. The collapsed one unsteadily stretched its legs out. The two helpers put legs under the body as it staggered to the airlock. The third back row Visitor moved up to the midline as the trio exited.