Brenda had assured the Callahans—on the way back to their quarters last night—that an early arrival wasn’t a cause for concern.

  It didn’t mean anything.

  Just that it had been possible.

  Nothing to worry about.

  —

  Cal wasn’t reassured.

  Not last night.

  Not now.

  How the hell do you mis-predict your arrival in a spaceship?

  Good tailwinds?

  Calm seas?

  Did you do the math wrong?

  Cal didn’t like this shit.

  —

  Captain No-Name—commander of the intelligence vessel—had made himself comfortable in a chair across from the Admiral, a glass of whiskey in hand.

  He shrugged. "They're saying they left earlier than planned. To be fair, so did we."

  He took a sip.

  "Honestly? I think they did the same thing we did—tried to be here first. And I think it tells us something important. Their intelligence on us isn’t perfect."

  The Admiral raised an eyebrow.

  "We’re faster than they expected us to be—at least the Sol is. Or they wouldn’t have let us beat them here.”

  The Admiral considered this. “Assuming they think like us at all. But we haven’t detected any other ships, no signs of an ambush. And based on what we have seen? They wouldn’t need to ambush us. What the hell do they want with us? Our oceans? They could find others—or just take ours."

  The Captain smirked. "Or just inhabit them and dare us to stop them. We’ve discussed a lot of scenarios. Bottom line? We don’t know what they really want yet."

  The Admiral didn’t like this shit.

  —

  "So why are they so early?" Savannah asked the air.

  "They’re not that early," Brenda replied. "Slightly ahead of schedule, that’s all. Arriving first is a strategic advantage. And a psychological one. Congratulations! Humanity beat us here!"

  “So they just wanted to be first?”

  “Possibly—Humans did. More likely, circumstances allowed for—or necessitated—an earlier departure.”

  Savannah wrinkled her nose. "Their ship is way bigger than ours."

  "Size isn’t everything."

  "I’m pretty sure it’s a lot when it’s a spaceship."

  Brenda laughed. "Everything’s going to be fine, Vannah. We’re not the bad guys. I promise."

  "I believe you."

  -

  Things between Cal and Cecil were better.

  She’d resumed making jokes and smartass remarks to an annoying degree.

  He had resumed being annoyed.

  Largely because her jokes were often thinly disguised attempts to feel him out about her revolver.

  “All I’m saying is—there’s gonna be aliens on the ship, and they got here early. Which is suspicious.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not asking for it! I’m just saying we should discuss what happens if—”

  “Nope. Go away now.”

  “What if—”

  “Then you’ll get eaten by them—go away now.”

  Sierra glared.

  At least she didn’t have to scrape gunk out of coolant tubes anymore.

  Apparently, all the tubes were full of brown all the time now.

  And—she was getting to go to First Contact!

  She’d really been worried he wouldn’t let her.

  But he’d just sighed and said, “Some things you don’t miss.”

  So she was going!

  Squid monsters!

  "First Contact!" She yelled to no one and everyone.

  -

  “I am not going. I am not going.

  Stop asking. I am not going.

  ?Por qué querría ver cómo todos los que amo son devorados por monstruos calamares?”

  Maria was not coming to First Contact.

  —

  As the ship approached, it had been broadcast to every screen aboard the Sol—an image burned into the minds of everyone watching.

  The Chromaphor vessel was significantly larger than the Sol.

  Sensors estimated the ship’s mass at roughly 30% greater than the Sol’s, but it felt like more. It had no hard lines, no sharp edges—only smooth, flowing contours, as if it had been grown rather than built.

  Like the Sol, it was long and narrow, its length more than twice its width, lending it an impression of speed. But where the Sol had aggressive angles and the silhouette of a predator, the Chromaphor ship was soft, rounded.

  Gentle. Serene.

  A dolphin without fins, maybe.

  Two vast arches swept over the length of the ship in shallow curves—not delicate passages, but significant structures, large enough for practical use.

  They stretched from the forward section of the hull, just behind and flanking a pool of light and reached over the ship, leaving open space beneath them, then curved back down toward the ship’s core, converging near the stern—just before the engines.

  And the entire ship pulsed slowly with a gentle light.

  -

  Its hull glowed with a soft white luminescence, rippling and breathing with shifting shades of purple. From near-black to electric violet. From deep, regal purples to shades so bright they verged on pink. All in little ribbons and ripples, moving and changing hue.

  Atop the bow, where a forehead might be if the ship were a living creature, a distinct pool of light shimmered. A large, imperfect circle, like a glob of spilled paint.

  Its colors and edges moved independently of the lighting on the rest of the ship—shifting rapidly in complex, repeating patterns.

  Visual communication.

  -

  The engines were unlike anything humanity used.

  Whatever fuel they burned—if it was fuel at all—produced a soft blue light, eerily similar to the glow of a wormhole. Unlike human thrusters, the Chromaphor engines produced no visible exhaust. No venting. No trails of spent fuel. No detectable heat signature.

  Just a deep recess in the hull, flooded with light. So bright it was nearly white—only just distinguishable as a shade of blue.

  Then they slowed.

  The brightness faded, cooling into a clear, soft blue.

  Dimmer still as the ship came to a full stop.

  Settling off the Sol’s starboard bow.

  —

  The Admiral had been locked away on the Bridge all day, meeting with the other captains and whatever politician-types were deemed important enough to be there.

  Then, the messages went out.

  The first was sent to those invited to the event:

  The Chromaphors were sending a shuttle.

  They had two hours to prepare for First Contact.

  The Admiral would escort the guests to Storage Room 17—currently serving as Conference Room: Supplemental.

  Invited Personnel were to assemble there and await arrival.

  -

  The second message was broadcast two hours later, shipwide:

  The Chromaphors had arrived.

  Clear all corridors between Landing Bay 1 and Storage Room 17—currently serving as Conference Room: Supplemental.

  No exceptions.

  —

  The Admiral entered the conference room, followed closely by the Secretary of Defense and the young Naval Lieutenant Commander from the meeting—still unintroduced.

  Behind them were—Aliens.

  All the creatures shared the same basic structure: a body without a distinct head and three tentacles, lined with octopus-like suckers, emerging from a cluster beneath their body-heads. Each tentacle ended in a large, smooth, leaf-shaped flipper-hand.

  But there were two distinct types.

  Leading them was a large squid, unlike anything the Callahans had seen on the crashed ship. Behind him, a small troupe of four others followed—these looked much more like the jellyfish-things they had found.

  They were all beautiful.

  Especially the large one—who Cal immediately began thinking of as the Squidbassador.

  The smaller ones, similar to the remains from the ship, were striking in a different way.

  Their body-heads were a purple-pink, streaked with irregular splashes of white, as if a wind-swept cloud had been painted across them.

  They had smaller, loose orbs of color floating just beneath the skin—or maybe it was their skin.

  Cal couldn’t tell.

  The orbs shifted subtly between hues of purple, ranging from deep violet to softer lavender.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  -

  The Squidbassador was an entirely different species of squid, Callan thought.

  The cadre that followed him matched up well with the bodies from the ship—

  Wide, stocky, jellyfish-like body-heads.

  Cal could see how, if they were dehydrated long enough, they might resemble the remains they’d found. They wore the same breathing apparatus—hard-shelled cases mounted to their backs.

  But the Squidbassador?

  He was different.

  His breathing equipment was sleeker, more refined.

  Slim tubing, carefully shaped to blend into his form.

  But the difference in gear was nothing compared to the difference in the creature.

  -

  He looked like a lava lamp.

  And the reason Callan picked that obscure piece of kitsch—something he’d only ever seen in VR—was simple:

  He looked like a lava lamp.

  Not just in shape—internally.

  -

  Tall and slender, his body-head tapered to a gentle cone, with two large, black eyes near the top.

  Two flaps of tissue extended from the sides of the body-head, beginning just above his eyes and arcing outward before curving back in at the apex of the cone.

  They wiggled as he observed the world.

  His dominant color was a pure, clean white—a canvas for shifting globules of purple, moving beneath the surface.

  Near his eyes, the globules were numerous and small—some tiny, others the size of a man’s fist.

  Farther down, where his body widened, the globules grew larger.

  The biggest ones were as large as Cal’s head.

  From near-black to violet—the same colors the Chromaphor ship had displayed on its hull.

  Growing. Shrinking.

  Pushing outward, like something inside was pressing against the skin.

  And the skin itself moved.

  Like a novelty optical illusion, shifting and pulsing, as if rippling with tiny waves.

  -

  And all of it changed color.

  The white canvas of his body remained mostly unchanged, though at times, it tinted subtly toward the dominant hue of the globules.

  The globules themselves shifted constantly—not dramatically, but in slow, natural transitions.

  A new hue would appear in one, subtly different from the rest. It would spread and mingle, until reaching some unseen tipping point—then, smoothly, rapidly, the entire globule would shift into the new color.

  The entire effect was—elegant.

  Mesmerizing.

  He looked like a lava lamp.

  -

  Somewhere off to the side, Sierra let out a long, appreciative ooooh that mixed with Vannah’s whispered, “It’s so pretty.”

  But Callan saw something else.

  Something dangerous.

  Venomous.

  He was pretty sure the Squid weren’t vegan.

  -

  There was one more difference in the equipment.

  Just below the Squidbassador’s life support system, a second smaller device was strapped to him. Round, with a soft, glowing purple light at its center.

  The back of the device pressed against his body, but as the Squidbassador moved, it revealed itself—a screen. No bezels. No frame. Just a perfect, seamless display.

  Flowing colors and patterns flickered across it—reminiscent of the shifting globules on his skin, but finer. More deliberate. Changing much faster.

  This device spoke for him as he conversed with the politicians in the room in soothing tones. The voice was smooth and natural—it seemed to be a male voice to Callan but it wasn’t a clear thing.

  The Admiral was with the politicians and the Squidbassador. Callan was doing his best to overhear the conversation over the hum of background noise—without much luck—when the Admiral turned and gestured toward the Callahans—toward Savannah Callahan specifically.

  And now the Squidbassador was approaching.

  Callan wasn’t sure about diplomatic protocols but decided the Admiral would probably handle introductions so he would wait.

  But Cecil beat everyone to it.

  -

  “Why are you different?” Sierra asked, tactfully.

  Callan closed his eyes for a moment.

  The Squidbassador turned to her, regarding her with a slow, deliberate gaze.

  The globules around his eyes shifted from deep purple to a soft violet.

  "I am of the third gender," he answered.

  Sierra knew better than to say Huh? But nothing else came to mind—so she turned to her Uncle, hoping for an answer.

  Cal was focused on the Squidbassador. He opened his mouth, then paused—choosing his words carefully, attempting to match the formality of tone he had heard everyone else using.

  “Would it be impolite to request elaboration?” Perfect.

  The Squidbassador turned to him now.

  The violet near his eyes mixed briefly with shades of brighter purples.

  "It would not," he replied.

  "Our species requires three to create wisdom.

  An egg carrier, who is also the womb provider.

  A fertilizer, who provides the seed.

  And my gender—who acts as the catalyst.

  Without the catalyst, the child would be of the lower order.

  Incapable of wisdom. Carried by the currents.”

  “So are you a boy or a girl?” Sierra, master of diplomacy, inquired.

  The Squidbassador did not hesitate.

  “I do not carry the egg or supply the womb, and in our pre-societal development, my gender’s role was provision and protection—for you, I think, a boy would be closest.”

  Sierra nodded, satisfied—the Admiral quickly interjected before she could ask anything else.

  “This is just introductions. We will have a formal meeting tomorrow where questions can be asked, Ms. Callahan.”

  Then the Admiral turned to Savannah.

  “This is the young lady in possession of your Artific—Constructed Sapient.”

  The Squidbassador now turned his attention to Savannah, the smaller globules near his eyes shifting toward a deep, rich purple.

  “Greetings. I am told you are called Savannah.”

  His voice was gentle, soothing.

  “I thank you for the care and companionship you have given our Diplomat.”

  Savannah hadn’t expected to be directly addressed by an alien today.

  She wasn’t really sure how to respond.

  “We’re friends.” was all that came out.

  The Squidbassador’s globules shifted again, even the larger ones trending toward pink shades now.

  “Are you? That is excellent to hear. I understand she is, most unfortunately for her own comfort, inhabiting the device you are wearing.”

  “Savannah,” Brenda said, “please hold me up where the Ambassador can see the face of the device.”

  Savannah hesitated for a moment—

  Then did as she was asked, drawing back her sleeve and holding her wrist up for the Squidbassador to see.

  For the first time, the little ring of lights that pulsed when Brenda spoke turned off entirely.

  Then the broader face of the device—usually an obsidian black like the rest—lit up.

  A swirl of rapidly shifting, complex color patterns flooded the surface.

  The Squidbassador watched intently, his globules darkening into a rich, royal purple.

  Eventually, the light display faded.

  The outer ring reactivated, pulsing again as Brenda spoke.

  “Thank you, Savannah. That is all for now.”

  Savannah lowered her arm and glanced at her Uncle, who could only shrug.

  The Squidbassador refocused on Savannah.

  “I will have to take the device, I am afraid. We must retrieve the—Brenda.”

  "Unfortunately," the Admiral answered without hesitation, "the devices cannot yet be removed by the young women wearing them. We've been informed there is a mental component they cannot quite control yet."

  The Squidbassador did not move.

  No color shift.

  No visible reaction at all.

  But Savannah’s bracelet deactivated.

  The pulsing light went dark, and for the first time—

  She could feel it against her skin.

  Cold.

  It rotated on her wrist—and released.

  Falling.

  Clattering against the floor.

  The room froze.

  Then, in a blur—so fast even the trained soldiers in the room took notice—

  Savannah snatched it up, clutched it to her chest, and disappeared behind her Uncle.

  -

  Cal turned his head, looking at her gently.

  He didn’t smile, but he softened his expression.

  "You're going to have to return it," he whispered.

  Then he turned to face the room—

  A room filled with soldiers, the most powerful politicians in the Republic, a glowing squid, and a whole mess of jellyfish.

  His voice remained low, but firm and clear as he addressed the Squidbassador, fully aware that everyone was listening.

  "My daughter has developed a significant bond with the—"

  He couldn’t believe he was about to say this out loud.

  "—Constructed Sapience—that inhabits the device. She is not comfortable surrendering it without some idea of what will become of her friend."

  The Squidbassador’s globules shifted to a soft, purple-pink, especially around its eyes.

  The box on its chest spoke in a gentle tone.

  "The being in the device is an independent life form. From all appearances, it has served well and faithfully in its duty. Its personal wishes will be given great weight, I assure you."

  "When will I see her again?!" Savannah demanded.

  The Squidbassador’s tone remained soothing.

  "It will take some time to debrief—her—and complete a transfer to a more appropriate and healthy host for a Constructed Sapient.

  While I cannot speak for another, I feel confident your friend will wish to contact you after the transfer is complete."

  Savannah processed the answer carefully, ensuring she fully understood.

  Then—slowly, reluctantly—and only after meeting her Uncle’s gaze and receiving a nod, she stepped forward.

  She gingerly held Brenda out to the Squidbassador, who raised a tentacle and took it from her.

  His globules, even the larger ones, shifted to a gentle pink as he did.

  "Thank you, Savannah Callahan."

  Savannah was certain if she tried to speak, she would cry—

  So she just nodded.

  -

  "Do I have to give you mine? No one lives in mine."

  Sierra’s face was a mix of fear and defiance.

  The Squidbassador’s globules flashed a bright, vibrant fuchsia as he turned to her.

  "We do not require your device, no. You may retain it."

  Savannah knew the adult thing to do was wait, to find out.

  But—

  She couldn’t help herself.

  "Will I get mine back?"

  Seeming to possess infinite patience, the Squidbassador turned his gentle gaze back to her.

  "We wish only to extract Brenda. The device was always intended as a gift for Humanity."

  Captain No-Name, who had been hovering nearby, spoke now.

  "Surely they were not intended as gifts for two random children."

  As the Squidbassador turned toward the new speaker, his globules shifted into darker, shadowed shades of purple.

  The voice, still polite and formal, lost its earlier tenderness.

  "They were not. But neither were they promised to any other.

  I feel a decision regarding the final disposition of the devices would best be delayed until after we have debriefed the—Brenda."

  "We really cannot allow the children to keep them." Captain No-Name attempted to inject authority into his tone.

  The Squidbassador remained unmoved.

  "The devices are defensive in nature and present no danger to the children or bystanders. Indeed, quite the opposite.”

  Captain No-Name tried again, “We have still not been given a clear understanding of what the devices do. How can we possibly feel comfortable with children carrying them around unmonitored?”

  “Yes, Brenda has communicated to me that certain details were not shared with you. We will resolve this issue shortly. For the moment I think it best this discussion be resumed tomorrow; after we have collected input from Brenda. Her thoughts will be valuable going forward."

  He did not wait for a reply before turning back to the Callahans.

  Once again, the globules near his eyes brightened.

  "Thank you again for your assistance in recovering Brenda.

  I have little doubt that you will be hearing from her soon.

  I must engage with others now."

  And with that, he moved toward the gathering of politicians and military officials—

  A group that had been practically fuming over the time spent with these random children and their father.

  -

  The meeting didn’t go on as long as the Callahan’s feared it might.

  After a little under two hours it was announced that the Chromaphor delegation would be returning to their ship to debrief Brenda and a new meeting was scheduled for the following afternoon to begin formal talks.

  —

  There was no amount of elegant colors, or hypnotic pulsing, no poetic phrasing—

  Nothing—

  Could compensate for the sound when they walked.

  Like a human.

  Wearing dive fins.

  On three feet.

  They bobbled along, body-heads remarkably stable, but their legs moved with an awkward, shuffling rhythm. Two feet planted, one stretched forward—slapping down, planting itself—then another, then the third.

  Repeat.

  Wearing the world’s largest flip-flops.

  The sound was incredible as the delegation filed out of the room and down the hall, returning to their shuttle.

  Sierra laughed.

  She couldn’t help it.

  She tried not to.

  Even before she looked, she knew Uncle Cal was glaring.

  She was correct.

  She stuffed the laughter down. Hard.

  What she didn’t know was that Cal was terrified.

  Because if she went—he was going to go too.

  My god—the sound.

  Somewhere behind him, Vannah failed to fully contain a snort.