13
As we drew closer to the station’s central hub, I noticed a familiar object in its center. It was another one of those dark metal spheres, much larger than any I’d seen before, attached to the inner face of the hub by a framework of gossamer-thin lace glinting from the distant sun. Bjorn explained it was placed there to create a gravity field so the outer building’s occupants could go about their lives normally.
I counted at least a dozen ships docked around the hub; only one of them similar to ours, cigar-shaped with rings mounted on either end. It felt odd to think of this as “ours” but that was a sign that maybe I was already getting acclimated to this strange new environment.
The other ships were of odd shapes and sizes. One was bulbous, trailing a long conical tail, which made it look like a flying horseshoe crab. Another was a simple cylinder, unadorned with any other structures I could see. The largest was ovoid and was also the brightest of the bunch, its outer skin sparkling with hundreds of brightly lit windows. The remaining few were good old-fashioned flying saucers.
Bjorn took note of my reaction. “Each of the ships you see are unique to the cultures that built them. The largest one is a colony ship; they serve to transport races that cannot otherwise tolerate relativistic travel.”
That was interesting; some species’ biology relegated them to the slow lane. “And the saucers—those are all Reticulans?”
“For the most part, yes. As you might imagine, they are the source of many of your culture’s UFO legends.”
It didn’t feel like legend anymore. I was about to land dead center in a world whose existence was believed in with a near-religious fervor by the types who most “normal” people dismissed as nutjobs.
It all began to make sense. If the Union’s “prime directive” was to remain undiscovered by the civilizations they were surveying, they’d want to avoid major population centers. That so many UFO encounters had been out in the boonies—including mine—was simply the result of them keeping out of sight.
The colors shifted on Sven’s control panel; he responded by taking his hands away. “Our approach has been approved. The station is guiding us into our berth now.” His voice gave away no emotion, but the subtle droop in his shoulders suggested otherwise.
“My companion prefers to pilot our ship himself,” Bjorn explained, “but the gravity gradient and proximity to other vessels necessitates automated control.” Not long after, the view outside changed as the station seemed to pivot around us, pulling us toward an open berth at the far edge of the hub.
Was this a chink in Sven’s armor? He liked flying and was irked at the prospect of giving someone else control. Maybe I could actually get to know these guys, given enough time.
Before long, the station’s bulk filled our view. It was hard to tell how close we were; the few visible surface features were so utterly foreign that there was no sense of scale. As we drew nearer, the reality of this new world began to weigh on me. There was no changing my mind now, and there would be no going back, not for a long time. It made me question my mental preparedness, but now there was no choice but to press on, as if the station’s artificial gravity was pulling me into a new life unlike anything I was capable of imagining.
Docking with the station was so smooth as to be barely noticeable. Sven’s hands danced across the control screens, methodically shutting down one system after another. Or rather, I assumed that’s what he was doing, as it had the feel of shutting down a piece of heavy equipment at the end of the day.
While Sven tended to the technicalities, Bjorn led me back to my room to collect my things. It was surprisingly hard to leave even after only a couple of days; I was clinging to anything that felt the least bit familiar.
Bjorn sensed my trepidation. He swept a hand toward the corridor in a welcoming gesture. “I know you are having second thoughts. There is nothing for you to be anxious about. You will find our collective civilization to be quite accommodating.”
I nodded shakily. “Oh, there’s plenty to be anxious about. I’ve always been kind of a homebody, and this”—I paused—“is definitely not home.”
“Then I hope you will eventually come to think of it as such. I understand your unease at the prospect of encountering so many new cultures at once. Rest assured, we will be by your side for as long as you require.” He motioned for me to follow him. “Come now, it’s time to bring you into the Union.”
My entry into the Galactic Union wasn’t exactly a welcome-aboard party with balloons and banners. It started with an unspectacular elevator ride through a portal in the top of their ship, ending in the first level of what they explained was the “transit hub.”
As the next portal opened, we stepped into a cavernous chamber. Its size was the only indication that we’d left our ship; otherwise it looked identical to one of the spaces we’d recently left behind. The arched ceiling glowed as if it were pure light, and rows of oval doorways were recessed into the chamber’s gently curving walls.
The startling difference was its occupants. Three of the Grays were waiting, each holding up one of their elongated hands in what I assumed was a greeting. I gulped. Standing face-to-face with actual, living extraterrestrials was nothing like when I stumbled onto a pair of incapacitated ones. Had Bjorn and Sven not been there, I can’t say I wouldn’t have wet my pants in terror.
They weren’t threatening at all, but their being so far removed from normal human experience was hard to process. I didn’t have a clue what to say. A tentative “hello” was all I could manage. They nodded in recognition, and I felt a tingling sensation deep inside my skull.
“It feels like they’re trying to get into my head,” I said anxiously.
“Translated, they are saying ‘We welcome the human Melanie Mooney,’” Bjorn explained. “Remember, their primary method of communication is telepathic.”
Only then did I notice the thin slits of their mouths hadn’t moved. One of them extended his hand to me, revealing two small discs. I took them from him with trembling fingers. “Thank you.”
The Gray answered with another nod.
“I reminded them that you cannot yet hear them, and that it is discomforting to feel their attempts to communicate,” Bjorn said. He pointed to the chips in my hand. “Those are your translation wafers. Place one inside of each ear. They will embed themselves and begin assimilating your language.”
I studied the tissue-thin wafers skeptically, each about the size of a fingernail. They didn’t feel mechanical at all; if anything they were more like human skin than a computer chip. I inserted one into each ear as instructed, and immediately felt them going to work. “It tickles.”
“That will pass. The wafers are embedding themselves in your epidermis and seeking out your auditory nerves.”
It felt like thousands of microscopic tendrils were working their way into my ear canal, right beneath the skin. I shuddered against the overwhelming urge to dig them out. All I wanted was to jab a finger down there, but before long it was done. The tickling was replaced by disembodied voices in my head, which might’ve been even more disturbing.
Welcome, Melanie Mooney. Are you able to understand us now?
I looked up at the middle Gray. Somehow I knew it was him—or her. Right, I reminded myself. They’re hermaphroditic. “Yes,” I said nervously, not sure if they preferred for me to think it.
You may speak per your normal custom. I shall do the same for your benefit. Of course he knew what I was thinking. This was going to take a lot of getting used to. His slit of a mouth began to move, and his vocalization came in a torrent of unintelligible clicks and chirps. After a brief lag, the chips began turning his chattering into words I could understand. “In time, you may find it easier to communicate with us telepathically.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Never much for small talk with strangers, I was ready to move on. “So, what’s next?”
The lead Gray motioned toward the nearest door, which opened as he pointed to it. “Before you are allowed to enter the facility, you must undergo a medical examination.”
I turned back to face the Emissaries, my imagination swirling with visions of being probed by alien abductors. “Exactly what kind of ‘medical exam’ is he talking about?”
Bjorn held up his hands to calm me. “There is no cause for alarm. This is a sterile processing area. Before leaving it you must be tested for any biological contaminants that could potentially infect other Union citizens. You will also be immunized against any of our illnesses which are known to be communicable to humans.”
I didn’t like the idea of being poked and prodded by a trio of extraterrestrials who’d just gotten access to my thoughts. Oddly enough, I was equally afraid of insulting them through sheer ignorance. “I thought the whole reason you brought me was that other races aren’t comfortable with treating . . . aliens.” It was the first time I’d ever thought of myself as such.
“That is true, though you may recall we explained it is a rare trait. These Reticulans are among the few who willingly do so.”
That wasn’t any less disturbing, but there was no use arguing.
They led me into an exam room. There was a padded table, a few chairs (because even vaguely human-shaped beings need a place to plant their butts), and what looked like a privacy screen in one corner. An array of unrecognizable metallic instruments sat by the exam table. I turned to Bjorn again. “I don’t have to strip, do I?”
As the Grays traded looks with each other, Bjorn gave me another of his disarming smiles. “Not at all.” He pointed to the privacy screen. “There are examination garments in the changing area. They will allow the necessary access without requiring you to be needlessly uncomfortable.”
“Okay . . .” I said tentatively, and stepped behind the screen. A collection of cream-colored body suits were hung along the wall. I took one that was about my size, stripped out of my clothes, and slipped it on. It felt only slightly better than being buck naked, and the medic in me wondered how they’d be able to do what they needed. I poked at my arm out of interest, and the fabric opened up just enough for my finger to slip through. When I pulled away, it closed back up. Cool.
With my dignity mostly intact, I stepped back into the exam room.
“Thank you,” the lead Gray said, his voice raspy through the translator. He motioned toward a bright metallic column, not much taller than me, which held two semicircular arms on either side. “Now, if you please, step in front of the scanner.”
Seemed harmless enough. I stood in front of the rack and the two arms closed above me, forming a circle. White light emanated from the circle as it began descending down the length of my body, then back again. If this was some kind of alien X-ray machine, nobody seemed particularly concerned about radiation.
As it finished, the wall behind them turned black and a three-dimensional image of my innards appeared. Two of the Grays busied themselves with studying my scan, highlighting and making notes on the same type of crystal slate the Emissaries had given me. They seemed particularly interested in my glands and lymph nodes.
The head Gray placed a small disk on my neck, cold and metallic, right above the left carotid artery. I assumed this had to be a type of biomonitor. Sure enough, more information appeared on their wall screen, in a script similar to what I’d seen aboard the Emissaries’ ship. I might not have been able to decipher it yet, but I recognized the traces right away: heart and respiratory rates, O2 saturation, blood pressure, body temperature. I wondered how my vitals compared to other species.
“Your heart rate and blood pressure appear to be high compared to our baseline human database. Are you experiencing any unusual stress?”
I stifled an ironic laugh. “Two days ago I was minding my own business at home. Now I’m on the other side of the galaxy getting poked and prodded by aliens. Yeah, I’m a little stressed.”
“I suppose that is understandable for a human in your situation. In time you will adjust to your new environment. You have nothing to fear.”
Easy for him to say, but it was equally likely they’d spent enough time among us primitives to become jaded. Still, I was beginning to feel an odd attachment to this one. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he had a gentle manner that was about as soothing as you could find in a short, gray-skinned extraterrestrial with a giant head and black, almond-shaped eyes. “Do you have a name?” One that I can pronounce, I didn’t add.
You may find our pronunciations are not as difficult as you expect.
Whoops. Forgot they were telepathic. I needed to learn Galactic Union etiquette, and quickly.
Translated into your tongue, my name is Xeelix. I am this station’s chief physician.
“Thank you. It’s easier to get comfortable with a new doctor if I at least know what to call him.”
He reverted to old-fashioned vocalizing. “I am not a doctor in the sense you may think of one. My role here is less focused on patient care than it is screening new arrivals for any latent illnesses, so as not to contaminate the station.”
I couldn’t help but think it was like a vet checking new cattle before adding them to the herd.
Based on our understanding of your agricultural methods, that is an apt comparison.
Damn. That mind-reading thing again. I glanced back at the wall screen with my vitals, and noticed a change. Not in my heart rate or anything, but in the numbers themselves. They were slowly becoming readable. They were fragmented, not entirely complete, but I understood most of them now. I pointed at the screen. “Is that translating for me?”
“It is not. That is the implant adapting to your language. It is beginning to access your optic nerves.”
Nice. So I’d eventually be able to read as well. That would take me a long way. I was just starting to relax when Xeelix lifted a small, bullet-shaped silver object from a nearby tray. “There is one final procedure, Melanie Mooney. If you please, lie face down on the examination table.”
So much for getting comfortable. The shock of realization shot through me like a lightning bolt: All of the trailer park, supermarket tabloid abduction stories had in fact been true. “Wait, what?”
He was annoyingly detached about it. “The rectal prophylactic is standard for new arrivals. It will disperse compatible DNA imprints which will enhance your immune system’s adaptation to any communicable diseases you may encounter. It is quite harmless.”
My inner reactionary crank finally asserted itself. “Nobody is sticking an alien probe up my ass!” I snatched the silver bullet from his hand and slipped back behind the privacy curtain. If Doc Xeelix was shocked by my reaction, he didn’t show it. If you want to do something right, do it yourself. Especially when it involves shoving things up your tailpipe without anesthesia.
There’s not much left to say about this part, at least nothing I’m willing to talk about. I examined the gleaming alien suppository, looking for any hidden machinery that might make the experience even more unpleasant.
It will be better if we administer this for you, he said in my head.
“No thanks, I’m good,” I said from behind the curtain as I assumed the position.
This is why we sedated humans for this procedure, I heard one of the Grays remind him.
Understood, I heard Xeelix think back at him. However, she is not like most of the others. This will in fact be an excellent test of her abilities. I could tell he was directing his next thought at me: You may find this to be a disconcerting experience.
More than it already was? “In what way? This thing dissolves, right?” It had damned well better, otherwise my stay here was destined to be short and unpleasant.
In a sense. It dissipates to distribute nanoprobes into your lymphatic system. Your physiology is not adapted for the types of infections we have acquired immunity to; think of this as a broad-spectrum vaccine. It is for your protection.
He’d answered a question that I’d been mulling over: Just as it was rare for animals to pass diseases to humans, how compatible was the biology of all the different Union species with our own?
It helped to think clinically as I was, well, doing the deed. And Xeelix wasn’t kidding, it felt weird. I could feel the thing disintegrate, releasing millions of microscopic machines to settle inside my glands and lymph nodes. It felt as if my bloodstream had been turned into an ant farm.
I clenched my teeth and resisted the urge to claw at my skin like the junkies we too often ran across back at County EMS. My last run had only been a few days ago, but it felt like a lifetime. “How long does this take?”
Typically twenty-two seconds, by your time reference, to deposit the nanoprobes throughout your lymphatic system. It will take somewhat longer for them to acclimate to your physiology.
It was surprising how long twenty-two seconds could feel. Beyond the privacy screen, I heard some approving noises from the other Grays. Excellent, Melanie Mooney. The nanoprobes have completed initial distribution and are establishing their monitoring network. You may come out now.
“Wonderful,” I said, collecting my self-respect to emerge from behind the curtain, shaking off the creep factor. Xeelix waited for me as the other Grays were watching the network depositing itself throughout my body. I pointed at the screen. “So you’re monitoring me right now? For how long?”
“For as long as you are with us.”
I didn’t care for the sound of that. “Someone is going to be watching my bodily functions around the clock?”
“Not at all. It is a passive system. We are only concerned with the initial setup, as you would say. If you experience any anomalies, it will alert the nearest Medical Corps facility.”
Ah, yes. The Medical Corps. My whole reason for being here. It’s easy to forget when you’re dealing with alien butt probes. “They send a squad whenever someone trips a circuit, or however this works?”
“By ‘squad,’ I presume you mean a medical transport. Not always. Maladies are categorized and prioritized before dispatching a team.”
“You mean triage.”
Xeelix paused, and there was a slight twitch in his eyes. His own translator must have been working overtime. “Yes, that is correct. A most useful term which we will add to our collective dictionary. You must pardon my hesitance, we have not yet encountered a human with your degree of medical knowledge. It may take some time for the translators to digest your idioms.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t run across any doctors or nurses. Hard to believe I’m the first.”
I can’t explain how, but he looked sorrowful. “Some of our kind encountered human medical professionals during an earlier survey, under traumatic circumstances. Our cohorts did not survive the experience.”
I turned to the Emissaries, who were still observing me from the corner of the room. “Roswell?” I mouthed silently. Bjorn answered with a solemn nod.
“I am so sorry.” It felt like I was apologizing for the entire human race, and maybe I was. “I’m sure they had no idea what they were dealing with.”
“They did not. Unfortunately some of the humans preferred to observe rather than render aid, though their efforts would have been unsuccessful regardless. As you well know, some injuries are not survivable.”
He wasn’t kidding. I’d seen it among their own kind not long ago. Of all the unimaginable things I’d experienced in such a short time, this left me at a loss for words, maybe because it was the first thing I could personally identify with.
“We appreciate your empathy. It will serve you well during your time here.” Xeelix looked to his companions by the monitor, who gave him slow, approving nods. He then turned back to me. “Your admission scans are complete. You are not carrying any diseases which are communicable to Union races, and we cannot detect any which may be of immediate concern to you.”
Good to know. As I reached for my clothing, he handed me a black crystalline ring. “This ring enables an interface with the lymphatic nanobots you implanted. It also contains all of your biometric information, and will enable your access to Union facilities. Wear it at all times. Do not lose it.”
He seemed deadly serious about that last part. It was strangely disappointing to be moving on; I could sense a bond growing with this little Gray man. He had a kind manner which was difficult to explain, considering his utter lack of expression or body language cues.
“Thank you, Xeelix.” I offered my hand, and he seemed confused. “It’s a human custom. We call it a handshake.” Us girls typically were more of the hugging type, but that seemed wildly inappropriate here. He cautiously extended his own hand, those elongated fingers wrapping themselves around my own. His skin felt cool to the touch, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little unnerving. Here I was, shaking hands with a no-kidding extraterrestrial. I was stumped for a moment, and decided to finish in his “native tongue.” I enjoyed talking with you. I hope we can do so again soon.
As have I, Melanie Mooney. I am confident we will have much to learn from each other.