Work Text:
351 years after the launch of the Hail Mary, an alien spaceship landed in Redwood National Park.
It was not first contact.
Though few knew it then, humanity’s first contact took place in a black site outside of Calistoga, in a sealed, mobile lab flooded with toxic argon, where the man responsible for Earth’s salvation first observed a living cell of extraterrestrial origin. Right before he killed it.
The Beatles probes returned some odd 230 years ago, laden with nitrogen-resistant taumoeba and the blueprint to restore their sun; their success didn’t go unnoticed.
Proxima Centauri b proved itself not only capable of supporting life, but fully committed to it. A transmission was received from less than ten years after humankind diminished the astrophage traveling to the Sun via Venus, which would eventually be roughly translated as:
How the hell did you do that?
Scientific discourse was quick to follow, and Proxima Centauri would be the third star saved by Dr. Ryland Grace. Others followed, and humanity would quickly learn the true extent to which they were not alone in the universe.
But the arrival of the Eridian ship in northern California was like nothing that had ever happened before, because no sentient, extraterrestrial force had ever come to Earth before. Some species had expressed interest in visiting but lacked the infrastructure necessary for prolonged space travel. Others were hindered by their biology: much of the population of Proxima Centauri b relied on anoxygenic photosynthesis for survival.
The Eridians were polite about announcing their presence once they crossed into the Solar system. Greetings in nearly every language Earth had ever known transmitted from the shadows between stars, the depths of space where no human had ventured since launching three brave souls into its maw on less than a prayer.
Përshëndetje
Marhaba
Barev
Hola
Hej
Hyālō
Nǐ hǎo
Allianchu
Kamusta
Salām
Dia dhuit
Bonjou
Namaste
Kia ora
Niltze Tialli Pialli
Xin chào
Anyeong haseyo
Salve
They made stops on the moon bases and to the Orbital Space Station, the Grace III, arriving with polite knocks and gifts consisting of samples collected from as near as Pluto and as far as Threeworld, the third planet from 40 Eridani.
Then they arrived on Earth.
The lone ship was easily half the size of the Old Golden Gate Bridge, gorgeous and stark in its brass brutalism. It made music as it soared through the atmosphere, chimes that could be heard for miles in every direction as oxygen swirled through the tubes, channels, and reeds.
It landed in a clearing, between the towering redwoods that were dwarfed in its shadow and the thousands of world leaders, news media, and humans who had traveled from across the globe, and even from above it, to greet them.
Fourteen Eridians disembarked. Two captains: Kirk and Picard. Four pilots: Sulu, Chekov, Iceman, and Maverick. Two linguists: Uhura and Teddy. Three biologists: Adrian, Darwin, and Tuttle. Three engineers: Squirtle, Angel, and one other. They had introduced themselves on the moon with great pride, owing their English names to the first human they ever knew.
Many of the Eridians bore resplendent carapaces, entire mosaics beneath the nearly invisible lining of their xenonite suits. The captains gleamed like opal and obsidian, and many of the pilots and linguists had layers of coloration like the purest agate.
But the Eridian that scuttled forward to speak on their collective behalf was on the smaller side, and bore the strongest resemblance to plain Earthen stone, pockmarked and scarred, with glimmers like jade at their joints and across the vivid carvings upon their limbs.
Alien or not, faceless or not, it was impossible not to recognize them. This Eridian was immortalized in history for the past two hundred years, talked about from infancy, in classrooms through to lecture halls and research labs.
When they spoke, it was in clear English (For some. For others, they heard Spanish, or Swahili, or Tagalog), as deep and resonant as any human might speak it. And beneath it, underlaid by it, was the song of Eridian speech.
“Hello, Earth. I am Rocky from Erid, friend of Captain Dr. Ryland Grace, the savior of Earth.”
“Welcome, Rocky,” said a representative from the Coalition of Nations. “Welcome to all Eridians. I know it’s been a long time coming, but thank you. Thank you for saving our sun.”
“I accept your thank you on Grace’s behalf.”
Rocky gestured toward their crewmates, half of which had disappeared back into their ship. “We come to deliver a message. Science Grace conducted, experiments on xenonite and how humans can use it too. Make better ships, better tools. Research that can be passed on to children, to help them learn and grow. That is what Grace requested.”
“Thank you,” the representative said. The clustered scientists behind them were already conferring eagerly, the news holos were aglow, and the murmur of the crowd ebbed and flowed in awe and disbelief.
The representative hesitated. “Rocky from Erid, why have you come now? What prompted this visit?”
Rocky, standing tall with all of their meter of height, shuddered and shrank. “Grace lived to 153 years with Erid science, but no more. Offered to bring him back to Earth, many time. But he said happy, happy, happy on Erid. Grace teacher to many, friend to all. Best friend to Rocky. Today, Rocky come to Earth, and when look back at Erid from here, Grace is still alive.”
“Have–have you brought Dr. Grace home?” The representative asked gently.
Rocky’s crumpled grief turned to brittle revulsion. Decades of anthropologists had devoted their livelihoods to studying Eridian body language solely from the image captures taken from the Hail Mary’s video logs. They wouldn’t know what to do with this display of affronted fury.
“Grace home. Home is Erid. Home is Grace. He did not ask to bring him back here.”
One of the biologists, taller than most of the other Eridians, with high jutting peaks like the face of a mountain and luminous green-blue coloration reminiscent of amazonite, stepped forward with a soothing, bass hum. Their song was a deepening chorus that vibrated in the chests of all who heard it.
“We have delivered Savior Grace’s research, as he requested,” the biologist intoned somberly. They would later be properly identified as Rocky’s mate, Adrian, who Tau Ceti e was named for. “He is buried on Erid, as he requested.”
“We understand,” the representative assured them. “Is there anything we can give you in return?”
“Yes,” Rocky said at once. They tapped on the grass beneath them with a claw. “We request earth. Soil. Substratum. We request trees and seeds to plant.”
“Of course,” the representative said. “May I ask why?”
Rocky sang, multiple overlying notes that rolled out in a wave, deep as an organ and melodic as the hand pan, a sound of deep anguish that few ever had the misfortune to experience before. It snuck behind the breastbone and tugged, yanked, with loss made tangible, and all who heard it gasped as if a piece of their soul had gone missing too.
“Grace loved trees. Wish to plant, and make a garden for him. Bring Earth to him, and keep it with him.”
“Speaking on behalf of Earth, we would be honored.”
Later-be-identified-as-Adrian hummed, a swelling, prideful sound. “You should be.”