“He’s very friendly,” Urle noted dryly as the two walked into Brooks’s study.
“It is very old, from what we know,” Brooks noted. “Until now we’ve never encountered an intelligent species that lives longer than 500 years naturally.”
“You’re saying that it’s an issue of a different perspective,” the first mate said.
“Exactly. There’s no record of humans having contact with their kind before, so this is new for them as well.”
“Records are very incomplete, even as late as the 22nd century,” Urle said. “As for how old they are – how old are they, precisely?”
Brooks frowned. “I don’t know, either. Reports have suggested they saw much earlier eras of the world, long before humanity. But that might be older generations – the ambassador, at least, has shared personal recollections back to the dawn of human agriculture.”
Urle made a soft whistle of amazement, that crackled coming through his vocabulator. “So almost 15,000 years? That’s a very long time.”
A chime came from the door.
“Enter,” Brooks said.
Cenz came in, his digital face showing a smile that the Captain thought managed to convey some tiredness as well.
“The Ambassador has been settled in,” the coral told them.
“Did he express any wishes? Is there anything he requires?” Urle asked.
“Only that no one enter his room without his permission,” Cenz replied.
“That will have to be stuck to,” Brooks said.
“Do you think it’s hiding something?” Urle asked him.
“Yes,” Brooks answered bluntly. “It’s hiding what they look like naturally. But that is something we have to respect, even if we don’t understand it.”
Both of the officers nodded.
“I can’t imagine you let the proximity go to waste?” Urle asked the science officer.
The face on Cenz’s screen nodded. “I did no active scans, as that would violate the Ambassador’s privacy. But I recorded all the passive information I could. I hope that was acceptable, Captain?”
“I have no issue with it so long as the Ambassador does not feel harassed. What did you learn?”
“It’s not actually wearing clothes – those are simply extensions of itself. They mimic natural fibers extremely well, though. They gain a shine by mixing in light-scattering scales not dissimilar to those on a butterfly from Earth.”
“Odd,” Urle commented. “How did it get them?”
“I presume it created them itself. All exposed skin is just that – skin. From what I could see, it actually has a human body. The proper cells, bone structure, and even organs exist under there. The hair is odd, though – they have a keratin shell but are alive and can move.”
“Make a report of all this and share it with myself, Doctor Y, and Urle,” Brooks ordered. He glanced between the two officers. “As important as this is, it is not our primary task right now. We have to continue preparations to return to active duty. Dismissed.”
Preparing to depart again after time at port was always a busy time for Ian Brooks. There was the maintenance on nearly every part of the ship – that meant Beetle-Slugs were underfoot in every critical area – he had to make sure that all the absent-minded little aliens remembered to get off, and didn’t get entirely focused on increasing the efficiency of some random part.
He also had to make sure that each and every department got everything they needed – they’d not be coming back to port for a few months at least – and fill out all the paperwork.
It had been nine hours since Ambassador Kell had come aboard, and he’d been working long past when he should have stopped.
His body desired sleep, but he instead made his way to one of the ship’s lounges along the equatorial axis. There were five such lounges on the ship, all of them around the equator. This one was his favorite – Fortaleza.
It helped morale, he’d found, for him to make such a public appearance regularly, and today would be no different. The shaking up of personnel and civilians at port and the new unique ambassador were all reasons that might cause concern on the ship.
And he took it very seriously that everyone on his ship knew that things were well. The Craton was not merely a ship – she was a city in space with nearly 35,000 souls aboard.
While every such City-Ship elected a Mayor to represent its residents and to be their liaison to the command crew, to speak for them – he had been chosen by the people of the Craton to be Mayor in addition to being Captain.
It was a great honor, and he would not fail them, any more than he would fail his ship.
Entering Fortaleza, he walked among tables and booths, smiling at some people, nodding to others. A Qlerning he knew loosely smiled at him – a rare action from their kind.
Reaching the great windows that looked out of the ship – the largest such windows, solely for the enjoyment of those aboard – he stared out at the megastructures that they were currently docked with.
To say that the great shipyards of Proxima Centauri were colossal was an understatement. The automated construction systems could be building stations and capital ships in numbers that boggled the mind. It was, by any definition, a megastructure.
Through a window on an extended tunnel connecting to the ship, he saw dozens of people moving through – some leaving, some coming aboard.
He’d approved the transfers, viewed the lists of new citizens. He’d get to meet some soon enough. That was traditionally the day after they’d left port, to allow them time to settle in.
He felt more than heard someone approaching. He began to turn, an easy smile coming to his face.
It faltered, just slightly, as he saw who it was. “Ambassador Kell, welcome,” he said.
Other Terrestrial 