Unification | A Sci-fi Story

April 20, 2201
In orbit around Zaktoria
United Nations Ship Scout, Tereshkova-class Science Ship


Li Shen was about to initiate first contact with an alien race on behalf of all mankind, and all she could think about was scallions.



The UNS Scout held a stable orbit just beyond the asteroid ring surrounding the Class B main-sequence star NASA had, centuries ago, dubbed ‘Zaktoria’. The Zaktoria system consisted of six planets. Three were gas giants, two of which dwarfed even mighty Jupiter. Another planet, the closest to the sun, had been superheated by the blue star’s light until magma flowed across the surface.



The second planet from the sun was eighty percent water, which was what had attracted the attention of United Nations Space Command in the first place. The UNS Scout, Earth’s first science ship, had been dispatched nearly six months ago, racing along the hyperlanes to Zaktoria as fast as they could. With colonies in both Alpha Centauri and Sirius flourishing, the United Nations of Earth were eager to expand even further afield, and Zaktoria’s second planet looked like their best bet.



Imagine their surprise, then, when the UNS Scout’s visual scopes detected picked up pinpoints of light dotting the surface – as many, if not more than, Earth itself. Surprise turned to shock when ships – actual, alien ships – moved to intercept the Scout as it passed through the asteroid ring surrounding Zaktoria. The crew had all been briefed on first contact protocols, and were professional enough to put them into practice. The ship’s blackbox was prepped, an emergency signal was dispatched immediately, and a message in as many of Earth’s languages as possible was transmitted across every frequency. The crew held their breaths and waited.



And waited. And waited. The three alien ships held their ground, pointing directly at the UNS Scout, but the Scout’s state-of-the-art sensor arrays detected no energy build-up or heat release that would indicate the prelude to an attack. Of course, as Engineering Officer Colin Lewis pointed out over a hurried breakfast on their third day of waiting, that was no guarantee – the aliens might have superior heat shielding or weapons that operated without the need for an energy spike. That’d seen him limping to the infirmary with a nasty burn on his crotch and a wet pair of pants as one of the security team threw their coffee at him, but it certainly had left everyone on edge.



Those same three ships were here now, holding in almost the same spot. Of course, in space, everything was relative. The distances between the UNS Scout and its two escorts and the three alien vessels were large enough to boggle the mind, but she liked to think the UNE had picked this spot for first contact because it was where they’d had first contact those two weeks ago. Maybe they’d put up a plaque on a little chunk of spacerock.



They’d spent those two weeks studying the alien ships, and by now she and her crew thought they had a pretty good idea of what they were. The aliens, her crew had theorised, used some kind of weaponised laser – technology Earth’s scientists were only just beginning to understand, let alone apply. Compared to the UNE’s missile-based weapon systems, the aliens were decades ahead. The slight shimmer her ship’s sensors had picked up from time to time were a kind of ionised energy shield, designed to protect against the very weapons the aliens employed. In a firefight, Command had reassured them, their missiles would be able to punch through the shields, but her crew had postulated that the alien’s lasers could do the same to the heavy armour plating covering the Scout. Besides, it wasn’t like the Scout was armed; a science ship was for science, not combat.



The alien ships were made up of three rounded, vaguely triangular sections. The first triangle – the bridge, she guessed – pointed tip-first out from the ship, ending in a rounded, bulbous nose covered in sensors and armour plating. Behind the bridge module, two flattened triangles protruded base-inwards from what they assumed was the engine core of the ship. Each vessel was covered in layers of thick, armoured plating, overlapping one another. To Li Shen, they looked something like a turtle - a protruding neck and head, surrounded by an armoured shell. The ominous-looking weapons mounts on the ship’s back ruined what was otherwise quite a happy mental image.



It had been four days before they’d received a reply, and unsurprisingly, it wasn’t one they understood. The garbled, chittering noise of the Zaktorian’s speech – they’d already started calling them that on the ship – was recorded and replayed ad nauseum even as linguists back on Earth frantically tried to translate it. They’d replied in English, which Li Shen considered a mistake. In her mind, if you were going to teach aliens to speak human, picking the most complex, least structured language on Earth was asking for trouble. In the end, though, she’d handed the bridge over to the linguists and headed to the observation deck to watch the ships.



That’s where she was now, watching the tiny shuttle drift across the enormous gulf between the assembled ships. It was a solitary speck of bright surrounded by billions of pinpricks of starlight, and it was getting closer and closer every second. As captain of the UNS Scout, the United Nations of Earth had appointed her their representative for first contact, over the protestations of UNS Command who’d argued a military captain would be far more appropriate. Earth’s president had argued – quite eloquently, she’d been told – that Earth’s first contact should be made not by a soldier, but by a woman of learning. Li Shen was starting to wonder if the president had been right about that.



“They’re assembled in the hangar,” Security Officer Davis said, jolting her from her reverie. “No weapons, per your orders, but I’ve got Team Three on standby.”



“Against my orders,” Shen said, raising an eyebrow at Davis. She’d known the man for eight years, but she’d never seen him looking quite as serious as he did now. His dress uniform was immaculately presented, firmly pressed and bedecked with the medals his rank and service in the Marine Corps entitled him to. He’d even trimmed his beard and shaved his head down to regulation length, the brown crew-cut and inch-long beard framing his broad face. His belt was missing the holstered XM-30 handgun he’d usually carry as head of shipboard security, but the man still cut an imposing figure. At six foot five, he had over a foot on Li Shen and about a hundred pounds of muscle, but even he looked nervous.



“Call it me being paranoid,” he said, trying for a cheery grin. She tried to smile back, but nerves got the better of her and she couldn’t quite meet his eye.



“I don’t-“ she began, but he cut her off.



“You can do this, captain. We all believe that. The president believes that. Earth believes that,” he said, and his tone almost convinced her – almost.



“I just- I never thought-“ she started, before the shipboard comm pinged.



“Extraterrestrial shuttle docking in three minutes,” the shipboard computer spoke in the dull, lifeless monotone only a computer program or one of the Scout’s geologists could manage. “Captain Shen, report to hangar bay.”



Davis gestured to the door. “None of us did,” he said. “And if it’s any consolation, I’m sure the Zaktorians didn’t either.”





The hangar bay was cold and smelled of stale air and floor cleaner. She’d had the maintenance crew working non-stop to scrape off the worst of the oil stains and patch over the scratches in the metal floors, and Shen was happy to note they’d managed to get it looking almost brand new. Behind her, the heads of the various science departments on the Scout were assembled in full dress uniform, flanked by Security Teams One and Two. The crisp white uniforms of the science department contrasted nicely with the brushed steel of the hangar and the navy of the security teams, and the halogen lights reflected brightly off the crew’s polished boots and burnished brass. Per her orders, none of them were armed, which she was sure a military officer would have insisted was reckless at best and suicidal at worst. Shen had insisted they go unarmed for the same reasons the president had insisted that she be the one to initiate first contact. A show of force was not the way she wanted Earth to be remembered when this day was spoken of in history books, and she had the feeling that if the Zaktorians were hostile, they’d have zapped them the moment they spotted the Scout. As the shuttle’s ramp opened with a hiss of escaping air, she prayed she was right.



The shuttle’s boarding ramp hit the deck with a dull thud, and it took a few moments for the escaping air to dissipate in the cold hangar’s internal atmosphere. Planetary scans had revealed the atmosphere on Zaktoria Majoris – their name for the Zaktorian’s homeworld – was roughly similar to Earth’s, but the average temperature was much higher due to the planet’s tropical nature. They’d tried to adjust the ship’s internal temperature, but evidently the Zaktorians liked their thermostats set to hot. Three figures moved down the ramp, and a skittering sound filled the hangar as they entered. Davis had suggested the ship’s band play a welcome anthem, but she’d declined, partly so as not to scare the Zaktorians and partly to spare them from the head chef’s trombone performance. The Zaktorians crossed the hangar slowly, moving into an inverted V as they approached the crew. Even the smallest of the trio dwarfed Davis, having easily three feet and eighty to ninety pounds on him. The largest of the trio was over ten feet tall, and she was sure it could tear any of the security officers in half itself. She was sure a few of the crew were wishing they’d ignored her orders to go unarmed.



The trio slowed in front of her, their peduncled eyes scanning across the faces of the crew. Twin antennae swayed, even in the regulated internal atmosphere of the hangar. Manipulator tendrils twitched in front of the creatures even as their articulated, armoured legs clattered to a halt. The smallest figure stepped forward as Shen and Davis stepped away from their escort.





“Crabs,” Davis said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. “They look like crabs. Ugly, tentacle crabs.”



They’d had to wait eight days to make visual contact, and even then it had been rudimentary. Linguists had made some progress on translating the Zaktorian’s language, and eventually they’d been able to set up a rudimentary image relay between the Scout and the lead Zaktorian ship. So far, they’d transmitted star charts and pictures of Earth and her colonies – the president reasoned that, since mankind knew where the Zaktorians lived, it was only fair the Zaktorians knew the same – and a copy of Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, accompanied by pictures of a few volunteers of the crew in similar poses. Davis has been one of the first to volunteer, and Shen was sure it was just so he could say his junk was the first aliens would ever see.



“I suppose that makes sense,” Shen replied. “Arthropods make up more than eighty percent of animal life on earth. Why not in space?”



The crew stared at the pictures, in which the Zaktorians had attempted to replicate the images the Scout had transmitted. Their four, carapace-covered legs seemed incapable of rotating at the hip as far as a human was able, but the manipulator tentacles protruding from their armoured chests seemed far more flexible. They seemed capable of walking on two legs or four, with the manipulator arms and flexible eyestalks allowing them a wide range of vision and interaction.



“There’s this Chinese place,” Davis said slowly, still staring at the pictures, “on Fourth in Brooklyn. Mister Tang’s.”



Shen stared at Davis, her expression neutral. “What.”



“They do noodles and dumplings,” he continued, undeterred. “But they’re the best at seafood. The squid is great.” He licked his lips, then turned to look at Shen. “Their best dish is Number 14, with rice. I’d get it every Tuesday when I was a kid.”



Shen’s mouth moved silently for a moment. “What the hell are you talking about, Davis?” she asked.



“Number 14 is crab in ginger with scallion,” Davis said. A grin spread across his face, and he gestured at the screen. “I wonder what Mister Tang would think of these guys.”




The Zaktorian extended a manipulator towards Shen – they’d sent over footage of diplomatic visits between world leaders as part of the hundreds of hours of video footage they’d transmitted over the last two weeks. When it spoke, the chittering was followed almost simultaneously by a tinny, humanoid voice emanating from a device attached to the creature’s waist.



“Greetings from the Confederacy of Zemm Opuk, captain,” the creature said. “We are Xumlobb Ytanaca of the Zemmerpuk people. Welcome.”



All Shen could think of as she shook the warm, slightly damp tentacle was scallions.