Did you know that the Kytalthan, the living water sprites of Kyta who volunteered in the drought effort on Vi recently, were the last species to participate in First Contact rituals?

No? Look it up. If however you lived over seven hundred years ago, in person or livestream, call me. I need interviews.

I was making history a month ago. History I tell you.

I have been an investigative reporter for most of my life, but I never imagined that I’d be staring at the planet from the way station’s common room. This was not the usual simple story for the RNN; corporation corruption, mob scandals, military conspiracy, or drug lords of the slums of the Republic. This was history.

Real. Honest. History. The kind of history that puts the Republic itself against the cliff’s edge. The last time that happened were the Goomash Raids, but that was a small scratch compared to this open, infected wound of a problem.

“What am I doing here?” I whispered.

“You say something, Zimmi?” Ketho asked and I jumped in my seat.

“Oh, uh, nothing. Talking to myself.” I laughed but my nervousness made me squeak. “Smooth,” I whispered again.

In the window, was Terra Firma, the Red-Flagged homeworld of humans, a world under the Primitive Culture Protection Act. One of those planets, but this is the planet. They weaponized nuclear technology and turn blood-thirsty when seen by ones not their kind. Soulless, genocidal monsters.

The way station that two Royal Navy guards and I rode in quaked for a second, metal ground against metal. I yelled and gripped onto something hard. Over Terran Firma, a Royal Navy battlecruiser passed over us as the tow cable retracted back into the hull.

The lead guard Ketho, coughed and I got my attention. My hand grasped the Dunac rifle-woman’s arm in a vice, by the look of her half-closed eyes, the female cyborg wasn’t amused.

“My bad,” I said smiling and letting go, “not used to traveling outside Creos or Zimana.”

She scuffed and said, “Pansy,” right in my face.

I looked back at the battlecruiser, the ship aimed six massive plasma cannons from under its hull down at the planet. “What the?” Three more battle cruisers were behind the first in similar battle-ready actions. Enough fire power like that could decimate a small city. For Terra Firma’s reputation, safety and security was important, there was no sense of questioning it. “Wait a second,” I said blinking, noticing several gold objects descending from out in the dark space. I unbuckled myself from my seat and leaned my face centimeters from the glass.

“Your eyes ain’t tricking you, Zimmi,” Ketho said.

Are you kidding me? Gold spires were stationed at high orbit.

“Are those…Titan Spires?” I asked.

“The very same,” Ketho answered.

“But…surely, that much fire power? Is that a little excessive from the Royal Navy?” My throat felt dry all of a sudden. “I don’t know if I can do this with those spires over my head. I don’t want to end up like compost for human feasts.”

No response came from Ketho, her hard eyes staring out at the spires. The second guard, a young Creosain boy named Tigap, fresh from training, appeared the same as me, save for his head quills rubbing each other in nervousness. Since entering Slipspace, he had played with a ring on the floor using one of his three legs, never talking. Why had Denverbay sent a fresh recruit and a seasoned warrior with me?

Titan Spires were meant to level a playing field.—one spires, not several. When it comes to the Primitive Culture Protection Act, and Red Flagged planets, serious precautions were never ignored; the proof was Terra Firma, sitting surrounded by the Galactic Council’s collective might.

What have I gotten myself into?

The lights flickered on in the common area.

Across the room next to the teleport pad was my three piece luggage. I don’t travel much as my baggage was excessive in comparison to a single duffle bag that each guard brought.

“Orbit achieved,” the station’s manager said in a snarling voice. “Coordinates for teleportation locked. Be ready on the platform in three minutes, people.”

“Wait what?” I asked.

“Got it,” Ketho said. “Let’s go, I want this done with no issues. Tigap, double check that your weapon is loaded. No lollygagging.”

Tigap nodded while they unbuckled.

“Wait. Three minutes? No, no, no. It can’t be three minutes. My nanites are not ready. I could get sick by alien air. Also, I was told the interview were happing here. Porting from the surface. You know, where things are safe!” My voice was filled with panic.

“Oh would you stop with the constant nagging, Zimmi, having a little allergy is good for your immune system. Gain some natural immunity, writer.” She had the nerve to punch me in the shoulder, my thin sandals nearly hooked themselves to the grated floor.

Ketho had been like that the moment I had met her, I wasn’t sure she hated my species, or writers, or if her cyborg augments were short circuiting. Maybe her eye scope had sparked a brain cell.

I was wearing my father’s suit, it would be ripped and I wasn’t sure if I could handle that on top of all the pressure.

Tigap set our bags on the teleport platform and was done before I realized it.

It was going to be a long five days.

Ketho pulled me away from the window with a firm grasp on my wrist using her real arm. “Two things, Zimmi. Your universal translator. Terra Firma does not have UT nodes anywhere so keep it charged and on you at all times.” I have used personal universal translators before; I nodded. She put mine on and activated it while I wondered how humans talked normally.

Ketho then strapped a metal wristband to my right wrist. “What’s that?” I asked.

“We have to blend in with the humans when required. Tigap and I will have ours. Unfortunately for you being a stick in my mud and Denverbay’s, turning it on won’t be needed.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as being raging mad about this mission, yes.”

Oh no.

“Brought any weapons with you?” She asked.

“Uh…just the plasma pistol you gave me.” I showed her the holster strapped to my thigh.

“Good. Keep it close, clean and primed. We don’t know what humans cooked up since the incident. If there is anything, we’ll teleport out.”

“But that will disobey The Hammer’s orders.”

“I’m all for safety, or mine and Tigap’s.”

The job sounded all the more real the more Ketho spoke and I felt woody. Father, if you could have seen me, I could really use some support.

Ketho was satisfied with her briefing and pushed me, literally, onto the platform. The transporter required DNA verification. My DNA was added—a scale from my hand—before we left Creos’ orbiting supply district to verify who is being teleported.

Three go down, three go up, and anybody else was incinerated.

“Transport in five seconds. Good luck down there,” the station’s manager said.

“Five seconds?” I screamed. The teleporter gained power and light below my shoes.

“Tigap, keep your weapon close. Head up and awareness high. This is your first primitive culture and I don’t want any shaky trigger fingers on my watch. Any sign of threat, just inform manager to beam you off. Sound off,” Ketho said.

“Aye,” Tigap said with a hint of fear, yet she favors him than me? Does this Dunac know who my father was?

The two activated their DNA masks, I closed my eyes as they finished; I was too scared. The machine whirred and shuttered under my feet and a white glow bled through my eyelids.

Would the humans accept me? Reject me? Is this the end of my father’s legacy?

Ketho heard me whimper. “Always a wimp,” she muttered.

I am not a wimp. “Shut,…“

My words were cut off.

I hate traveling in general. I’m happy with a robotic clone doing the traveling while I stay home, drink tea, and remote cast to my interviewee. Normally I only travel to Creos by commuter vessel, and even then a delay puts me in a panic.

Denverbay forbid me from using a robot for this job. Did he realize the pressure I was under?

The air in my lungs disappeared and my body felt like nothing. I hate the break-up feeling of teleportation. I sucked in air, but kept my eyes shut.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Wait. This is not air I knew. It was alien air. The smells were wholly different; a sweet note with earthy tones. I live with giant mushrooms and spent time smelling Creos’ trees and flowers and foods, but this sure was different. The wind died and sounds of chirps, engines, and wind blowing leaves like nature’s applause, welcomed me, I hoped.

“Clear,” said Ketho.

“Clear,” said Tigap.

“Scope for long-range enemy surveillance. I’ll stay with the wimp.”

“On it. Um, sir? Who are they?”

“Hey! You two, or four, you the contacts Denverbay said?”

“Y-Yes, we are. Glad you could come,” a woman spoke. I imagined it was a human woman.

Oh Javo, those were human voices!

“Say your names!” Ketho demanded.

“Shit uh…Katie. Katie Walsh.”

“Scott Dunne and put that gun down!”

Ketho’s gun clicked off. “Good. Hey, writer. Open your damn eyes, its safe.”

Seriously, that woman…

But I did open them, and I was captivated.

The sunset was in the west and clouds of orange brushed the sky and horizon. It was a nice sight, I dare say, to see before I got killed.

Around me were rows upon rows of leafless vine plants tied to wire held by steel posts. Each pole had a lightbulb on top in a glass jar, and by some form of magic, they lit up all at once. There were more rows with similar lights, but the farther rows did not have them. I can recount that the winery used those lights as their marker. In the distance I could see human houses across the valley, some lit.

I blinked as I tried to recall Denverbay’s explanations, but I was among those who detested how cryptic he is when he talks. I did remember now thing he mentioned; the planet had been attacked by crystals, and I could see them littering the land. Amethyst crystals, ranging in size with some small as balls and others tall as personal ships. A much taller one was near a mountain, making that I had been told had been the city’s only casino at one point.

“Cosmos to writer!” Ketho yelled.

I jumped and turned, startled. I had forgotten that my guards had activated their DNA masks. Ketho appeared as a dark skinned human woman wearing the same tight military uniform as her old form, there were no signs of her prosthetic left arm or legs, or even her visor. Tigap appeared as a young man, and by human age standards, was in his mid-twenties with a stubby beard, brown hair, and by his former Creosian tripodic body, less muscular. Both kept their weapons up, still looking out for me, yet Tigap was admiring the DNA mask’s work.

I noticed where the new voices were coming from, they were a meter from me and when I saw them my jaw dropped.

I had heard about human mutants from Denverbay’s descriptions. They were called Terrans. They were simple enough to pick out with their elf like ears, animal companions called totems, and their augmented under skin armor on their forearms, legs and tails. The young woman wore a black tank top and blue pants, with short brown hair, a bird was perched on her shoulder. A man and his canine companion beside her wore a red shirt and black shorts with a caring smirk on his face, with his right hand on the woman’s shoulder. The canine had a dopy grin.

They walked up to me and I tensed up.

“Don’t worry, were friendly,” the woman said, smiling. “I’m Katie Walsh. And this is my boyfriend, Scott. Welcome.”

Their voices were not threatening in the least. Denverbay had told me that terrans were humans that had been changed by the crystals. I had been sent to investigate how and why they had been changed. I could not treat them as strangers: that would have been detrimental to my cause.

I nodded a little. “G-Good to…meet you,” I said, sounding jittery.

The woman offered her hand, and I knew to shake it. One touch, and I felt it. Power. Raw magical energy coursing through her nerves.

Meeting a primitive culture, a first for me.

Meeting a newly formed hybrid species, game changing.

----------------------------------------

It was a short walk from the teleport site to Katie’s family’s house. We walked side by side as my guards kept searching for threats. I felt like treasure being escorted into enemy territory, but my curiosity was firing off like well-choreographed rituals.

“So what is this place called, Ms. Walsh?” I asked.

“This is my family’s winery,” Katie said.

“A winery?”

“It’s a place to make wine. Fermented grape juice.”

“Oh, another species in the fermented arts. When my nanites are ready to process foreign foods, I’ll definitely try some.” Ketho must have thought that I was about to off myself with the local delicacies, but I am an alcohol enthusiast, it tends to be the only place where there is a level playing field across cultures.

From my notes, the Walsh estate is an Italian/Spanish-style country house with a covered porch wrapping half of the building. Flowers line the bottom of the house, my notes called them roses. All the wine was processed in two warehouses adjacent to the estate. One of the warehouses held the store and large patio for parties and gatherings that the Estate hosted every time; the annual New Year’s Eve party was coming up.

My inspection of the architecture was cut short by Ketho’s barking. “You four, don’t move,” she said charging her gun. “State your names and affiliation, and don’t you dare murder us!”

The four people stood on the porch, startled by Ketho. There were two men, one woman, and a young boy, all human, but they weren’t blood thirsty monsters out for my heart. They seemed normal, no sign of genocidal rage. I had forgotten where that gun Ketho gave me was, but somehow, I did not need it.

The little boy screamed and ran inside the house. The other three shuddered but stood their ground. “Hey, stop that, we’re friendly!” Said the older man.

“It’s alright, they’re my family,” Katie said. “Please don’t scare them, I’m still working out their nerves with aliens.”

“I’m doing my job,” Ketho said. “How would I know they won’t kill and eat us!?”

“You’re being rude, that’s what, and that’s crazy. Please, lower your guns.” Their rifles were pointed directly at the older male human.

Ketho followed after a few seconds of assurance, and restrained herself. She sighed and said, “Better not be an act or this mission is over.”

“Thank you.”

“Just like Jaruka,” the man said with a sneer.

As I introduced myself, still shaking from nervousness, shaking hands with the humans did not bring the same magical surge as the terrans. Katie’s father was Jonathan Walsh, the lead winemaker of the estate, and was almost into his senior years. Katie’s mother was Brenda Walsh, the business’ marketing and store manager. I instantly picked out some of Katie’s similarities. The younger man with black hair and wearing mostly black was their oldest son, Robert. He watched me carefully until we shook hands.

“At least you’re not like Jaruka,” he said. “I hope.”

“Yes, about him,” I started. “Is he here too? He’ll be interviewed as well.”

“He’s not here. Dad banned him,” Katie answered before Jonathan.

“Oh? For what?”

I assumed that Jaruka had been banned because typically, Halcunacs have temper issues. Cup that with their magic and it’s a mix nobody wants to be stuck in.

“He’s first on my list to interview tomorrow. But if he’s…”

“It’s not a problem. We’ll get him,” Scott said.

“Oh, uh…thanks.” Awkward.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to interview the terran couple, believe me, but I felt more comfortable interviewing someone whose species I was familiar with.

I want to distance myself from the terrans magical really, I could feel their fluctuations.

“Why don’t you come inside, Xi’Tra? We have a room for you to use,” Katie said.

“Uh…su…wait, but I heard that Jaruka has a ship?”

“About that.” She shook her head. “This is better. Way better.”

“We haven’t spoken since he moved sites, and haven’t seen the ship since, but we still know he haven’t left it for a while,” Scott said.

“Is Mr. Teal okay?”

Scott shrugged.

Ketho hummed. “We need to scout the house.”

Brenda disagreed, but Jonathan said, “it’s fine. My home is safe but your weapons are not allowed inside. I don’t need another alien smashing furniture again.”

“But our guidelines…”

“I mean it. You three are guests, not bullies thinking you’re above my family. You scared Jacob enough.”

That squabble was enough for Ketho and Tigap to agree. I had no issue, I gave my weapon back to the cyborg and they placed them under an energy shield on the porch. They entered the house and immediately secured the area. Scott and Katie offered dinner to and Ketho reminded me of my thirty-hour nanites acclimation to the world. Some species can tolerate a multitude of foods without immunity nanites, but I am not one of them. I have issues with crunchy and rubbery foods and had brought my own foods and snacks to hold me over.

I still hate traveling.

Oh, and I was entering a human home, a sacrilege against First Contact. The guards told me that it was clear, and after a few screams upstairs of “Get out!” from Jacob, I entered. I trusted Ketho.

I’m still alive if you were wondering.

The terrans totems stayed downstairs. The animals had been new with the Wave, all the research had gone into documented medical practice, perhaps that would be a good lead.

My room was upstairs and I entered to find a quaint and tidy bedroom, with a large bed, desk, a shaded window, and a musky smell. Oh, Javo, the smells of Terra Firma. I forgot to mention, I thought I smelled dinner, it was something called pot roast and salad.

“This is Scott’s room and guest room, but you’re welcome to use it,” Katie said. “My room is right across and we’ll both be in it. Feel free to talk to us anytime.”

I set my bags down on the bed. “Thank you,” I said. “It is…may I say something?”

“Sure,” Scott said.”

I could not stop rubbing my hands. “It’s shocking how much hospitality you’re offering.”

“I think waking up in an alien medic ward on a spaceship changes perspectives, or those Spires want us on your best behavior. Who knows?” Scott shrugged. “So how will these interviews be done?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple. It’s a witness per day from now to…what was the event called again?”

“The Wave.”

“Right. The Wave. I’ll explain the process tomorrow. Still need to settle that I’m in a human home.” I laughed. I was talking casually to them and it felt strange. I hoped that the laugh came out non-nervously.

“But how exactly? I mean, I know journalists here have tape recorders, camcorders, and smartphones. What do aliens have?”

Katie’s curious off the bat, I think I like her. “Memory recordings,” I said.

“Pardon?”

“Just what I said. I use hybrid technology on loan to record the memories as I ask questions.”

“That sounds…dangerous,” Scott said, eyes pointing at Katie.

I assured them that the process would not pick up random thoughts, at least that was what I assumed, and they sighed. Javo.

“Is there anything else?” Scott asked.

I thought for a minute, and then said no.

As the couple left, Ketho closed my door and guarded it.

That was the point that I collapsed to the floor and slumped against the plush bed.

I’m on an alien world, without First Contact, in a human house, in a human room, given so much love from complete aliens, all for a Republic job. Everything was beautiful. So beautiful. I laid there sobbing for hours, but was careful not to alert Ketho and her cybernetic hearing.

What am I doing here? Why did The Hammer choose me?

I came back to my senses a few hours later. The house was quiet and outside the stars were bright and the valley was lit with city lights. A Wave crystal flickered with purple light. I think it was remnant energy, but I will ask for confirmation.

Something else caught my attention: a Creosian glyph painted on the window with mud. It meant “courage in darkness,” a symbol of pride for all young Creosians in a time of sorrow. Tigap must’ve placed it when I wasn’t watching, or maybe he had seen me on the floor. He must’ve felt sorry for me, or thought that I gave up without doing my job. My father came to mind. What would he say?

“I have to do this,” I said to myself. “I must make him proud.”

I unpacked most of my things into the empty dresser while eating a high-protein grain cake from my homeworld. I had to idea how to use the hangers in the closet. The attached bathroom looked nice and clean, and thank goodness it functioned like any other bathroom is this weird universal language of personal hygiene. I tried not to stare at the water knobs; neck universal translators don’t work well with written letters. My work bag was unpacked on the single table but I found a pamphlet Denverbay gave me about Terra Firma, it was filled with negative propaganda on humans. Not helpful.

Humans and a lot of species have beds, but I prefer hammocks. Hopefully the mutants and humans wouldn’t mind the two holes in the ceiling for my travel hammock. I undressed from my suit and folded it neatly on the bed, leaving me and my reptilian body bare to the world. I can tell you are getting worried that I’m not protected or have a weapon close to me, but Ketho was still at the door, and I knew a few offense spells, if my reflexes weren’t relaxed. In the hammock I used the blankets and they were quite soft actually.

Even when I travel, I couldn’t go anywhere without my father’s picture beside me on the nightstand.

To the human readers, and I now understand your pop-culture and mythology love, Zimmi are anthro-like dragons. We have no tails or talons or extra leg joints. Sorry, no wings. Just a bit of a snout, webbed ears, and hair only on our heads. The rest is scales, where personal uniqueness shows. My father, the original Xi’Tra Zader Khu, and I share the same characteristics; red hair, green eyes, and varied green, yellow, and blue scales. In the metal-framed photograph, he wore his favorite suit—the suit I inherited—in front of RNN’s headquarters. I wear it because it gives me courage, and his reputation was no exception.

“I’ll make you proud. I promise.”