But the important thing is that they have tried to identify themselves to us. And they are telling us that they understand something about who we are too, at least our DNA. It feels like they want to communicate with us, to get to know us better. I certainly want to know them better. For lots of reasons. The most important is that they brought us to a place that is very far away from the rest of our ships, and I am hoping that if we can find a way to work together, maybe we can get back to our friends more quickly.
But the desire to communicate isn’t enough. That’s where the math and art come in. The math is about finding common terms, words we both use that when strung together create meaning. The art part comes in when you are interpreting the meaning. Even if you speak the same language, sometimes meaning isn’t clear. Experience helps us get to the meaning behind the words. But we only have a few words so far in this language we are trying to use and frankly, none of them are any good at conveying meaning.
So what do we do?
I really wish I knew.
We know they understand biology from a chemical perspective. We have certain molecules in common. Which means we also share an understanding of the mathematical concepts that underpin the physical universe. But how do you go from there to a language that can communicate more than those concepts? There is no math problem that can solve for love, for hunger, for laughter, for why? Even if they could give us the specifications for the technology they used to drag us across the quadrant, how do we ask them why they did it? How do we ask them who they are beyond the basic molecules that make up their anatomy? What does it even mean to ask who are you?
“Lieutenant Kim, please report to the bridge immediately.”
“Acknowledged. I’ll be right there, Captain.”
I have to go. I love you, little pea. I’ll be back as soon as I can.
Commander Clarissa Glenn had spent the last several days anticipating her first view of the Edrehmaia. Curiosity was part of it. So was anger. Both needed to be set aside, and she knew it. The past was the past. There was no changing it. She needed to proceed forward now focused on the present moment, mindful of her fears without allowing them to define her options.
Thus far, the only description reported was that they moved through space in rectangular shapes, four meters high by two wide, that transmitted messages encoded on the full spectrum of visible and invisible light. Whether or not those “shapes” were vessels or the aliens themselves was unclear. The photonic emissions had recently been translated by Lieutenant Kim and Ensign Drur as identification messages: not everything she had hoped for, but a much better start than opening fire. The longer they went without attacking, the more cause Glenn had to hope that there were reasons for their actions, even if they were not presently understood.
It was good to be back on her bridge. It felt normal in a universe where nothing was normal. It also felt right. Her fears that Lieutenant Kim might be in the process of a slow-motion coup attempt had been entirely unfounded. He reported to her of their progress several times daily and cheerfully accepted her orders. If anything, he seemed somewhat relieved to have her back in command. It was interesting to her that the moment Ensign Selah had reported unusual sensor activity, Kim was the first person Glenn wanted by her side.
“The contact has now shifted to section B-17,” Selah noted.
The “contact,” whatever it was, had simply appeared suddenly on their sensors, apparently moving across the ship’s hull. Visual confirmation was difficult to obtain because, unlike its predecessors, this one did not emit any light as it did whatever work it had come to do. It did, however, make a disconcerting scratching noise as it moved over the hull.
When Kim stepped off the turbolift—finally once again fully operational—he crossed immediately to stand beside Glenn. The bridge only held a single command chair. It had never seemed odd to her before, but Glenn suddenly found herself wishing she could offer Kim a seat beside her.
“Captain,” he greeted her.
“We have a visitor,” she said.
Kim paused as the scratching sound returned. “Not a dog, then.”
“What?” Glenn asked.
“Nothing,” Kim replied. “Is it just the one?”
“Sensors say yes, but we can’t get absolute visual confirmation.”
“Did you raise shields?” was Kim’s next question.
Glenn shook her head. “I didn’t want to do anything that might seem provocative,” she replied. “For now, I am content to assume the best of these creatures, all evidence to the contrary.”
Kim nodded, a tight smile communicating that he knew how much it had cost her to follow his lead. “I really hope I’m not wrong about that,” he said under his breath.
“Now you tell me?” she teased gently.
“Has it said anything?”
At this, Drur piped up. “No, sir. No photonic emissions detected.”
“What the hell is it doing?” Kim asked.
Ensign Selah turned from her science station and said, “Would you take a look at this, Lieutenant?”
“Sure,” Kim said, moving toward her station. As soon as he saw the sensor feed of the points of contact, a puzzle piece clicked into place. “It’s checking the patches, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” Selah replied. “It looks like the patch covering B-17 has increased in volume by a few hundred thousand cubic centimeters.”
“You’re talking about the unusual substance found on the hull?” Glenn asked. “The one Velth went to investigate?”
“Yep,” Kim said. “We haven’t confirmed it with another EV mission for obvious reasons, but we have been monitoring the patches using sensors and taking internal readings. They appear to be repairing hull fractures.”
“Not just stabilizing them?”
“No, Captain. And I can’t tell you how they are performing this miracle.”
“Given what we saw
