“Mister Blake,” Captain Durand said for the third time. He had to blink a few times, shaking his brain like an Etch-a-Sketch, clearing it for use. It was partly occupied by the fact that aliens were real and he was actually here and actually meeting them. He was actively trying not to panic. He’d always dreamed of first contact, but this wasn’t nearly what he’d imagined. Part of him had imagined something bigger, more official. Like a fleet of friendly ships showing up above earth, or a message broadcast across all human settlements. Not… this, a meeting between two ships in what felt like a quiet little corner. “Mister Blake, I am really going to need you to pay attention,” the captain said, although there was a little humour in her voice. He assumed he was being cut slack by the extraordinary circumstances they had currently found themselves in.

“Ye-es. Yes. Aye. Aye? Yes, Captain?” That was easily the most awkward way he could’ve arrived at that particular destination, but as things stood, he was mostly just happy he’d managed to arrive there. He looked up at her, and saw her smirk at him, her eyebrows raised. How was she so calm about this? She’d been a military general, sure, but other than some slight breach of protocol -- which had seemed effortless and calculated and had been received well by the… guests -- she had been the perfect diplomat. He couldn’t help but look up to her. To think that not too long ago he’d been ready to relieve her of duty. If he was even remotely like her if -- when, he imagined Andromeda’s voice in his head -- he got his own command, he’d be legendary. The aliens looked at him, too, and he suddenly felt very small.

“I will be giving the envoys a short tour of the ship, but it seems Ambassador Proteus feels it would be of interest if his associates spent some time getting to know the crew as well. They could use the diplomatic experience,” Captain Durand said, then lowered her voice. “And so could you.” Had she just winked? Clinton could have sworn he’d seen it, but it could just as easily have been his imagination. “Tell Prakoso to join us, and then take them for a tour of the facilities in whatever order you feel is pertinent, Mister Blake. The point is for them to meet the crew.” Clinton looked at the two aliens identified as Yetta and Petri, and then back at the Captain, hoping that his eyes could adequately express the scream visually that his brain was trying to suppress audibly. 

“I… of course, Captain,” he said, doing his very best to keep his voice level, without betraying the wave of anxiety threatening to overtake him. This was an amazing opportunity, he just wished he’d expected it in any way, or would’ve had a chance to prepare for it. The slightly more competent part of his brain was already considering different places to take his newly acquired wards, on top of the millions of questions he wanted to ask them. He took a deep breath and bowed to the envoys, straightened up when he realized he didn’t know why he’d bowed, and with flush red cheeks, he turned to the elevators. “Shall we?” Yetta and Petri stared at him for a moment, then seemed to suddenly turn to Proteus, who smiled softly at neither one of them in particular. The two nodded, and walked towards Blake, who was mostly confused by the whole interaction. He sent a quick message to Prakoso, who sent him a shocked emoticon back. Clinton rolled his eyes. 

They walked to the elevator in silence together, although there was a lot of eye-contact between the two Unity. Blake pressed the button and, as he waited, decided to have more informal introductions. “My name is Clinton Blake,” he said, “but you are free to call me Clinton, or Blake if you’re feeling formal,” he added with a little smile. He worried for a moment that English would prove to be a problem, but they both nodded their head. Then the one named Yetta activated a speaker on the band around her neck. 

“That is more than amenable to us, Clinton Blake,” Yetta said. “Forgive me for speaking through the translator.” She waved at the device hanging loosely around her neck. “I do not yet have the ‘muscle memory’ to do what Proteus did.” Clinton cocked his head. 

“That’s more than all right, of course. Do you mean the way Ambassador Proteus… uh…” he was trying to find a way to say this tactfully. The situation was more than a little unusual. “Grew a mouth?” he hazarded. Yetta nodded. 

“Yes. Most translation is handled by the device, but for the ease of communication, the Ambassador studied several common human languages for decades. I’m afraid I have had too many other duties to focus on for such…” There was a pause, like she was looking for a specific word. “Such dedication,” she settled on. The elevator arrived and they all stepped inside. Clinton felt dwarfed by the creatures, but not particularly uncomfortable. Something about them made him feel strange, but he couldn’t put his finger on why quite yet. He also noticed that the one named Petri had only one pair of arms, and that there were other major differences in physiology, ridges and grooves in their anatomy that he wasn’t sure were some form of sexual dimorphism or more general variations. 

“If I can ask,” Clinton said carefully, “how do you -- the Unity -- communicate if not through sound? Or is it a matter of frequency we can’t hear?” Yetta and Petri stared at him for a moment. It was clear they hadn’t expected the question, and he hoped he hadn’t committed a cultural faux pas. 

“No,” Yetta said, and there seemed to be some hesitation that was picked up even by the translator. “We have a… connection. We are the Unity. If we need to, we think as one, or feel as one.” She nodded sagely and then looked ahead. Blake wasn’t sure he understood, and it looked like Petri -- who was still eyeing him with curiosity -- had picked up on it. 

“We have a great deal of control over the connection,” Petri said. “We can choose to disconnect entirely, or become one with the Unity itself.” They seemed excited to talk about this, and Blake was all ears. “Our connections can go as deep as we want them to, but simple communication is something we are always open to.” They cocked their head. “We are sad other species can not share this connection, but your languages are fascinating. There is so much information conveyed. It is a very efficient way of using an inefficient system of communication.” When they said this, Yetta’s collar made the soft stuttering sound that Blake had gathered from Proteus was their way of laughing. 

“That was why I misunderstood your relationship to the Captain when she introduced you,” Yetta said. “I was under the misunderstanding that you two had bonded.” Clinton nearly choked on his own tongue and he had to take a moment to keep from unceremoniously coughing his lungs out. He swallowed it down -- barely. 

“Bonded?” he managed. His voice was high and squeaky, which, while embarrassing, was perfectly evocative of his internal state. He felt like a giant hand had wrapped itself around him and squeezed. Pop. Of course the aliens didn’t pick up on this, although Petri was still staring intently. Yetta nodded. 

“When two Unity care deeply about each other, they can choose to bond and become, essentially, a single unit. Their minds, their being, becomes one,” Yetta said. Clinton blinked. That seemed like a level of commitment way beyond anything he’d ever heard of. “When it was mentioned that you acted in her stead, I wondered if you two shared a connection like that. It is not uncommon for a vessel to be co-commanded by the captain’s mate.” This time, Blake completely failed to keep the cough in. He felt like his eyes had to be bugging out of his head. 

“N-no,” he stammered. “I’m just… I simply co-command. I… uh… I…” He desperately tried to come up with something that wasn’t stammering and came up short. 

“I apologize,” Yetta said. “Have we caused offense?” Clinton shook his head, but he was still having a lot of trouble breathing, talking and even thinking. Yetta stood still for a moment, blinking and then nodded. “Proteus agrees. I apologize again. There are things that go unsaid. I do not interact with other species often.”

Clinton nodded in understanding. Sort of. “Can I ask what your role is, normally?” 

“I’m a captain,” Yetta said, matter-of-factly. She saw Clinton looking at her in confusion. “The rank is not as important within the Unity. Skills and memories can be transferred. I am simply the one who holds them and pilots the vessel.” She seemed satisfied with her own answer there, and the elevator doors opened. Clinton held out his hand for the two of them to step out, and he joined them. As they walked through the hall, Petri occasionally asked him a question, which he answered to the best of his ability. Most of it was about humanity, and how life on the ship functioned, so for the most part he was comfortable with the back-and-forth. 

“How does your body change,” Petri suddenly asked, “if at all?” Clinton stopped for a moment, and turned to them. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. Sure, he’d seen Proteus grow a mouth, but was there more to it than that? Petri nodded and then looked at Yetta, who looked back. Clinton assumed that they were communicating through their connection, and when both of them stared into space for a moment, that Proteus was also involved. 

“Human bodies grow and change across your lives,” Yetta said, “but, I believe Petri wants to know if you have any sort of personal experience with these changes, and any control over them. We have knowledge of humans, but there are many things we can simply not experience through video recordings or writing, of course. Would it be okay to ask you about those?” She shot a glance at Petri that Clinton read as something of an admonishment. On the one hand, he wanted to answer, but on the other, he didn’t know if he could, if he was qualified. He suddenly realized that this was probably exactly the kind of thing that would be useful to tell them.

“The problem with answering a question like that -- I have no problem trying to answer them -- The problem is that I can only answer for me. I mean, I can say that we don’t have any direct control over the growth of our body, but there are ways of changing them, although these often require work or intervention.” He chewed his tongue for a moment. “Can you describe to me what you mean with ‘changes’? That way I might be able to answer better.” Yetta looked at Petri, who looked at Clinton, and then both nodded. Petri stepped out in front of Clinton, like they were about to give a presentation, and then suddenly, Petri started to… shrink. By a lot. After a few seconds of their skin moving around slowly, they were about Clinton’s height, and the latter realized that he wasn’t nearly prepared for this presentation. The alien grew a face. More specifically, his face. Their build began to mirror Clinton’s, and it wasn’t long before there was an exact duplicate -- sans body hair -- of him standing opposite him in the hall, wearing swathes of clothing that were much too large for them. They smiled faintly and their voice came from the speakers. 

“Like this,” Petri said. Clinton wanted to say something. He wanted to scream, because this was weird and impossible and more than a little terrifying. He wanted to laugh, because this was weird and funny. He wanted to turn away, because that was him and he realized that the way he saw himself in the mirror was not all that dissimilar from what he looked like in real life, apparently. It wasn’t very flattering, although the lack of hair and eyebrows didn’t help. After a second, Petri turned back, and Clinton felt relief wash over him. 

“Yeah,” he said in a quiet voice. “We can’t do that. None of us can. I don’t think anyone would look exactly like themselves if they could.” He perked up as they reached a door. “Anyway, we’ve arrived at the botanical wing. There’s some people here I would like to introduce to you, who might have some questions, and, ideally, you could meet my partner.” He hoped they wouldn’t mind the change of subject too much, but the confrontation with himself had made him more than a little uncomfortable and he could use the diversion.

Elamimax

 Poor thing

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