Silence hung around the room, crushing all under its pressure. Not a single being, human or alien made a sound.

Until the dam burst.

“Huh, that was fast,” Dusty nervously murmured out, only for Stannock to elbow him in the arm, leading to Xin to hit Stannock back in the stomach, much harder.

The thought, however, was not lost on Sal. That was fast, far too fast. Even with cutting edge translation technology, these creatures had barely seen any human text or language, let alone been given enough context to properly translate. Unless these creatures were bending reality to their whim, it didn’t make much sense. Regardless, Sal made a mental reminder to think on it more. It appeared that his conversation was about to get a bit more two-sided.

A flurry of movement overtook the room. The ‘Cambiar’, as the leader had labelled themselves, seemed to apply to all the aliens, as they rushed towards the crowned leader, desperately examining the device on its throat. Their attention was drawn away moments later when a pair of colossal, red creatures stepped to either side of their leader. They stood nearly as tall as two and were as thickset as industrial mining equipment. Each limb was thicker than Sal’s torso, and was covered in crimson chitinous plating. In each of their huge, clawed hands were metallic containers, each the size of an oil drum. Noticeably, hanging idle, both large aliens had another pair of limbs sprouting from their backs. Resembling crab-like crushers, they slowly flexed in the open air. Seeing how large these things could be put Sal at unease. Did they all grow up to become that size? Were the white ones just children?

Almost uncertain, Sal’s curious alien friend looked between the containers and Sal before dashing over to the containers and returning in an instant. Holding it forward to show him, it had a wicked spiked appendage sprouting from the rear surface, and a small stream of wires projecting from both sides. As it played around with the box, attempting to divine its attachment, Sal looked around the room. The dozen or so other humans looked on with a mixture of anticipation and concern. Notably, Titus stood at attention. Yet, Titus did not move an inch from his position, instead surveying the room and the entourage of important aliens standing by the hall’s opening.

By now, the lights on the floor were moved to the corners to provide more uniform light across the space. With better visibility, Sal observed his ‘Cambiar’ companion taking one bundle of wires and feeding them into a pair of thin slits he hadn’t noticed before at the back of its head. Moving around for a better look, the openings widened and flattened with the steady breaths of the extraterrestrial. With both bundles inserted, a process that didn’t display any outward signs of discomfort but made Sal cringe slightly from the sound, the alien pressed the spike against its throat.

Sal considered intervening for a second, not wanting to see his strange new acquaintance injure itself, but before he could move, the first of many oddities occurred. Where the spike pressed against its skin, a small opening in the flesh formed. At the edges of the seam, it loosened and stretched, accepting the sharp device inside. Beyond the flesh and skin, vibrating, taut cords could be seen, joined to rubbery looking tubes that trailed up and below the opening. Biology was far from Sal’s skillset, but he speculated the structure he was seeing was some form of vocal cords. Inch by inch, the hole expanded as the sharp metal seemed to slot perfectly beneath the skin and interweave with the organs below, not a single drop of blood spilt.

Still bewildered at the strange display before him, he was taken aback when his companion spoke.

“Upmost priority. Greetings, Sal.” The voice was metal, synthetic and cold. Yet, he could hear sincere inflections in the whispering underneath the mechanical translation.

“Uh, hello. Do you… understand me?” Sal was genuinely afraid of the answer. Would this discussion be one way street of questions but no answers? The alien paused, the small black orbs beneath the clear dome rolling back as if in religious reverence. As if nothing had happened, they return their focused on him once again, staring deep into his soul.

“Confirmation. Yes, Salvador Vigino, I do understand. It is good to finally communicate without confusion.” The clarification was compounded by a sharp snap of its jaw. Swallowing hard, Sal followed up.

“Uh, hi. So… what’s your name? It’s going to feel rude getting to know you without even getting a way to address you,” Sal tried to express how impactful this was to him through his tone, but it came across as more uncertain. It was only at this point that the reality of the conversation was setting in. Salvador Vigino, born from nothing, abandoned by those he cared for, survivor in the face of death, was talking to a goddamn alien. Said alien was looking down for a second before it replied, fingers dancing in the air.

“My name… I am afraid I do not have a name in the same way that you do. I have a designation for my role, but that is somewhat… crude, unbecoming, raw,” it spoke, the last three words compounded in a fast slurry of speech. Sal wasn’t sure what it meant, perhaps it was mixing or lacking the right words? After a deep breath, it continued.

“A ship has a name. The Out-Han has a name. A star has a name. I do not. Though it is… unseemly for one with such an expressive name, I will give my designation for clearer communication. I am the Cambiar designated Uvolo Operating Unit 28103-G9.”

Sal was a bit taken back by the odd string of words and numbers. The first unfamiliar word, ‘Uvolo’, seemed like some sort of operator to the rest of the title. At least there were some numbers at the end, figures large enough that Sal wouldn’t be able visualize them without great effort.

“That… is a bit of a mouthful. Sorry, but is it alright if I shorten it a bit? You know, as you said, for clearer conversation?” Sal rubbed the back of his neck. His first chat with a sentient creature from god knows where and he was already asking compromises from it. Well, hopefully he could make up for it later, somehow. Instead of speaking, the creature came close to Sal, almost touching his helmet’s visor before the swaying mass of tendrils at the back of its throat hissed a response.

“You would give me such a blessing? A name for us to speak, with ease?” God, this thing was getting way too close for comfort.

“Sure. I mean, everyone shortens my name, it not that big a deal for us humans.”

“Humans. Yes, you are humans.” It rolled the sentence around for a moment, as if noticing the grammar. “As in, all you bipeds are humans. That name, that title…” It looked at the childish drawings he had made into the floor.

Uh oh, had he stepped on some weird cultural landmine about six letter words beginning with ‘H’?

“I like that name.” Oh, alright then, Sal thought. “As for the shortening, what do you have in mind?”

“Um… how about, G9?” G9, that would work. The number before daunted Sal. Were there that many called ‘G9’? Was that a name shared between all these aliens, or just here on the ship? The overwhelming number of questions regarding these aliens were beginning to crowd his mind.

‘G9’, as he had so termed, thought on his words, claws once again dancing in the air. “I like it. Can you say it again, Salvador?”

“Uh, sure. G9?” As soon as the words left his lips and were processed by the voidsuit’s speaker, G9’s tail slapped the deck before coiling back and forth. Though there was no movement on its face, aside from its jaw snapping open and shut, with eyes boring into his own, he got the feeling that he had made one alien quite pleased. Sal couldn’t help but feel a bit daunted.

After some time, the room was vacated for the humans to discuss amongst themselves. Though reluctant, G9 waited outside the room, along with the rest of the aliens.

Sal hadn’t noticed it, but whilst the surfaces of the room were silvery and metallic, there were pockets of black-green still being eaten away at in the corners. Standing by the far wall with the rest of the crew facing him was Titus, adjusting his tie before tapping on his arm-mounted computer.

“Is that everyone? Good. There’s lots to be discussed, and I am sure you all have questions, so if we can keep this orderly, it would be appreciated,” he said, counting the number of crewmembers with his eyes. “First things first. Ruby Eye is obviously out of action. Its automatic bulkheads sealed off the splits as quick as possible, and some its escape pods have been reported from the other Cambiar craft. It is… unfortunate to say, but the estimated casualties have been high. I am sorry for all of those who knew those aboard. However, for the immediate future, we must focus on what comes next. Considering the situation, command has determined that Starheart might be unsafe. Until we can complete a thorough investigation and determine the safety of the ship, we are to avoid returning.”

At that moment, punctuated by heavy breathing and quick footsteps, a man with a prosthetic arm, heavy build and a scarred eye stormed into the room.

“There you are you company bastard, thought you were drinking vacuum,” Elijah growled, the edges of his lips curling upwards. Titus stifled a sigh and stretched out a hand to meet the fellow officer but was instead treated to the older man gripping his shoulders like a vice.

“Is Starheart hit? How many are gone? Did these alien bastards take out both of our ships? Where the fuck is that useless piss puddle Curtin?” Elijah’s voice was rust on metal, eyes boring through Titus’ glasses.

“Deck Manag-” The analyst sighed. “Mr Meyer, the situation is under control. Starheart is fine. Everyone has been evacuated, with little to no issues. Some pods are still being picked up, but it will take some time to account for everyone. I’ll reconnect you back to the command server, in just a moment.”

Tapping away at his wrist-computer as Elijah scowled at him, Titus continued. “Perhaps we can continue this discussion later? A more formal officer’s meeting perhaps?”

“Right, right.” Elijah stepped back, his abject rage fading, and the usual stoic façade slipping back into place. He stood to the side, once again allowing Titus the spotlight. Clearing his throat, Titus continued. “Alright, as I said, we’re still figuring the situation out. For now, we are sticking here until we can get in contact with H&H. There are some… difficulties at the moment, but we will let you know the situation as it develops. As you can probably see, the atmosphere here has been acceptable and has been seemingly adjusted by our hosts since we first landed.” Sal noticed that the officer seemed more relaxed, flexing his gloved hands less.

“I presume most of you are running low on air? It might be time to lose the voidsuits and air tanks.”

Sal checked his pressure gauge and was taken aback to see he had burnt through most of his tank in such a short period of time. He justified it to himself that meeting aliens was rather exhilarating. With some reluctance, the crew discarded the suits and breathed the air of the ship in for the first time. It was cold against Sal’s lungs with a light, lavender smell wafting about, but nevertheless he was relieved to lose the heavy clothing.

Seeing the crew had become as exposed as he was, Titus nodded. “So, here’s a quick rundown on our new hosts. These aliens are known, or are being translated as, the Cambiar. They don’t quite fit our old categories for life from Earth, but neither did shuckabrush. Unlike the simple alien vegetation however, these creatures are intelligent and sentient, as I hope most of you found out by talking and not by attacking them.” He glared at one unpleasant looking man in the corner, arms crossed over his chest and face cratered with harsh wrinkles.

“The ship we are aboard is the Fifth Spoke, part of some group known as the ‘The Cycle of Outstretched Hands’ or as they’ve shortened it for us, the ‘Out-Han’. Looks like this fleet is part of some exploration group, perhaps not too dissimilar to our equivalent at H&H. Currently, we don’t have many more details, or at least, vital details you all need to know, but at least it would seem this alien crew are relatively friendly. As for dos and do-nots, let’s keep this simple; no fighting, no killing, and try not to get too annoyed if they touch you. It would appear personal space is not at the forefront of their minds. Remember, humans are just as strange to them as they are to us.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Most of the crowd seemed to be following along, and Sal found himself lightly nodding. Glancing towards the closed door, he wondered what the Cambiar were thinking of them. Were they planning some surprise attack, now that they had all corralled them into a single room? Would the air be filled with poison, leaving them choking on the floor in agony? Or, just perhaps, were they actually as friendly as they appeared to be?

“Food might be an issue, but they’re at least adjusting the air for us, so we won’t asphyxiate just yet. You might have seen the different colours and shapes of them. As far as I can tell, they function as different roles, bit like your uniforms compared to mine.” Titus exhaled a pleased snort.

“They’ve all got long designations and I’m sure they’ll be happy to tell you. The white ones are their standard all-rounders, the big red ones are guards, and the crowned ones are their… bosses. Or PR specialists. Something along those lines. Nevertheless, for now, your orders for now are to keep the status quo for now. Do your best not to anger them, I for one would not like to ruin this new opportunity due to some brash decisions on your part. Last I spoke with them, they were ‘arranging’ rooms for us. I can’t confirm what they will be like, but it would be best to stay in groups for now, just in case. I am sure you will have questions, but if it not life-threatening, I ask that you please wait until we have more details. Anyone?”

The room was quiet. A few mumbles broke out between the crewmembers, so Sal turned to his team.

“Any questions? I’ve got plenty, but they can wait,” Sal whispered. Except one in particular, he considered. The team were quiet, glancing at each other, but no one stepped forward. The initial shock seemed to have faded, with Stannock focused on redoing his ponytail and applying a light eyeshadow to his grey skin. Abel was fiddling with his necklace, and Sal hoped to god he wasn’t seriously considering asking a Cambiar for a tooth. Dusty just smiled and shrugged as Xin and Marcus began to talk about how they would try to fight the aliens, should it come to it.

With his team unquestioning on the matter, Sal made the first move. Raising a hand, he stepped forward, “Sir, I have one question. How did the Cambiar create these translators so quickly? Did the probe H&H sent have data for this sort of thing?”

The second he said it; Titus met his look, and, from the look in his eyes, an unspoken message was exchanged. Titus was unsure either and that gave the officer serious discomfort.

“Life threatening questions only, Mr Vigino,” Titus covered his concern to the others with admonishment, whilst Sal faked annoyance by clicking his tongue. Message received, Sal would talk to Titus later.

Once the discussion had finished with only one more, also not important, question about manhandling the aliens, the humans left the room in their respective groups, with Sal opening a non-descript door to find a familiar crowd waiting before them. True to his earlier observations, Sal was confirmed in his suspicions the ship was shifting and moving around them. The hallways were definitely not this wide, or even lit, before. New hexagonal lights hung at regular intervals along the corridor, casting it in a harsh orange shade.

Sal quickly saw G9 waiting for him. Had he not spent some time closely looking at them earlier, he wouldn’t have picked out the slight dark shading under its transparent ocular dome, or the way their tail swayed back and forth. Realizing they were there to escort them, the six humans slowly made their way into the crowd. Moving around them, they were led out of the hall, and into the unknown depths of Fifth Spoke.

His team was led by group of the Cambiar in a direction Sal guessed was towards where his shuttle had crashed but after how turned around the team had gotten in their initial panicked rush, he couldn’t be sure. Walking through the hallway, Sal saw that the mist in the air had diminished to a light swirl around his ankles, After turning around a corner, his predictions about the ship were confirmed further by the green veins of the walls around him being eaten away by an ever-growing silvery material. Making good distance, Abel met step with him and cleared his throat.

“So, Sal. You want to know what I’m thinking?” A smile betrayed the seriousness of Abel’s incoming discussion.

“I shouldn’t feed your attention, but I know you’ll just ask another one of the guys, or, Christ, even the aliens. So yes Abel, I am absolutely dying to hear what you are thinking,” Sal’s mocking tone was not apparently lost on the nearby Cambiar, some of whom turned to him when his tone became sicky saccharine.

“I’ve really been wondering this – where the hell are all the clothes? I mean, look at us. Even without those space suits, I’d say we were pretty covered up. Titus even had gloves on. But look at them – bare ass naked, and not even a sock in sight.”

God this was stupid. Sal sighed and shrugged.

“Look, Abel, I don’t know. Maybe they have… something like a colder homeostasis point than us or something, or maybe they just don’t need them. Does it matter?”

“No man, it’s not that. It’s more of… the idea, the culture behind having clothes. It’s the little things that we have that I don’t see on them. I mean, if something as basic as clothes for us don’t exist for them, then what else is different? Do they hang out together? Do they eat food like us, or maybe they get what they need from the air? Do they… well…”

Abel trailed off. Sal cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

“Well, you know man. I don’t see any…” Abel cupped his groin and made a grabbing motion at an invisible chest in front of him.

“Jesus Abel! These are goddamn aliens!”

“You can’t say you weren’t thinking it. Where are the honka-tonks, the knockers, the jubblies? I’ve read some old pulp sci-fi during our break shifts, and all of those space babes had funky parts. And, hey, I definitely saw you eyeing up your little Cambiar compadre.”

“I was looking at their translator and… other bits.” Sal said, thinking back on the strangely excited tail wagging he’d observed. “Besides, they do have some of the personal stuff you mentioned. Like… names. Sort of.” Nodding to the one he had been talking to, who glanced over their shoulder to look at Sal, he continued. “Their name is G9, or at least, that’s what we’ve decided on.”

“Wow, five minutes and you’ve already got nice and cushy with them. That’s a new record as far as I’m concerned. Fastest pickup artist in extraterrestrial space – Salvador Vigino!”

“Abel, for the love of god, they’re probably recording every word we’re saying, and I’d rather not end up in front of a tribunal when this is over.”

“Ah, right, right.” Abel struggled to stifle his chuckling but eventually shut up. He still maintained a grin, however. Moving back through the group, Sal met pace with Dusty and Stannock.

“Sal,” Stannock grumbled, mind preoccupied with rubbing his thick beard. The few hours without preening and grooming it constantly had ruined his perfect, uniform facial hair.

“Sir!” Dusty gave a quick salute before resting his hands back in his jumpsuit pockets.

“How are you two holding up?” Sal asked.

“As well as one can, without the appropriate facilities. Do you know how awful that voidsuit was for my hair? Absolutely dreadful things.” Stannock seemed his usual self, for better or worse.

“Good, Sal!” Dusty cheered back in an almost comical contrast. “I’ve got to say these Cambiar really freaked me out at first, but now I think they’re really cool. Have you seen how varied some of them are? Those huge ones back in the hall were amazing! Still, I’ve got to say, what’s going to happen to the Expedition Fleet now? Even sending a message back to headquarters will take a while, let alone getting reinforcements or the corporate suits over.” Dusty crossed his arms in thought. “I mean, meeting aliens is cool and all, but H&H just lost two ships, if we count Lighthouse. Are they gonna pull the plug on the mission? Will they ship us back?”

Sal sighed deeply. More than anything, he wished he could answer Dustin with a complete answer. “I… don’t know. You would think meeting intelligent non-human life would make any venture worthwhile, but H&H has put a lot into these fleets. The third and eleventh fleets ended up with no suitable colonies, and the rest were pretty middling, so management will be expecting something, anything from us. For now, I guess it’s too early to tell. For all we know, the Cambiar might just crap out gold, or better yet, syraline. Then we’d all be rich.”

Syraline was an incredibly expensive material, used for extremely complex but useful equipment across all factions in human space. It lined S-Drive engines for increased FTL distance, could be used in ship or heavy mechanized vehicle linings for military purposes, and was required for the strongest ammo and weaponry capable of punching through Scar Fields, or at least draining them. The colony ships used by the Expedition Fleets had drained most of H&H’s syraline stockpile to produce, and losing a single one was a huge cost. Sal wondered exactly how large the ‘Out-Han’ were, and if they would be a useful trading partner for the conglomerates. Would they even understand the concept of trade, or commerce? Then again, first contact was still underway, and there was plenty of time for humanity to mess it up. That, or some innate part of Cambiar society turned out to be evil. If they ended up as nutjobs, at least Paradise and some clans would have something to bond over.

After enough walking that Sal was mentally beginning to make up stupid names for all the aliens in front of him, they entered another door to find an unexpected room. A harsh difference between the previously alien black-green living hallways and the sterile, unfeeling metal corridors, this room had a warm feel to it. Along the sides and flooring were wooden surfaces, with black marble-like structures making up tables and counter tops. The room itself appeared to be a mixture of a kitchen and lounge room, the sort one would find on a high-class liner or as part of the officer’s deck. Sal had certainly never been a real visitor to a place like this, at best he’d only visited such a place once before to grab an engineering officer for a meeting.

“Holy hell,” Abel said quietly next to him. The interior had enough space for a full multi-team dormitory or two worth of crew to spread out and relax, and yet, Sal’s team were the only humans there. The standout feature of the room was a floor to ceiling window, opening out to a view of the void. A striking difference to his last view from Starheart, no shattered vessel was visible from this angle and was instead replaced with a vibrant scene. In amidst the dotted spots of stars, dozens of ships, now being lit up, one by one, in purples, blues and turquoises along black hulls had settled in in orbit around the star. Their shapes were organic, bulbous, and stood out against the boxy, rectangular forms of most human ships. It seems that the Cambiar had decided to make themselves quite visible.

Stepping into the room, Sal surveyed the interior carefully. This was a big difference compared to everything he had seen before from the aliens. How had they gotten human styles down so carefully? Entering the area where a series of couches, lined with plush cushions, he spied embroidery along the seams, which were stylized in the shapes of human flowers. Roses and chrysanthemums danced along the edges. The more cynical part of his brain told him this was a trap, that the Cambiar were far from what they seemed. The exhausted and mentally drained part, the part that had fun hearing an alien swearing, and seeing it shake its tail in apparent joy smothered the other half down and wanted to relax already.

Entering the room alongside the humans, a number of tan coloured, stocky aliens quickly ran about the place, holding readout displays attached to additional limbs. They seemed to quickly check and inspect the walls, appliances and other details of the room, checking them against the fleshy-looking devices. Clearly displayed on the screen on one next to Sal were photo references of a similarly styled room. Had they taken this information from H&H’s probe in the system, or had they already been provided with this information so quickly? When the alien realized Sal was staring at it, it cautiously gave an uncertain thumbs up motion, which the engineer returned. What on earth were these things?

Sal had intended to make a strong show of human gratitude for the Cambiar and their hospitality so far, but as soon as he moved to the centre area and sat on the soft sofa, he simply let out a relaxed groan. Gods, when was the last time he had felt something so comfy? Had he ever? The Torchers laughed at his reaction whilst the aliens watched on, gauging their reactions. The other team members closed in and took seats as well, resulting in similar expressions of bliss.

“My god, can we get more evacuations if it ends up with seats like this?” Xin sighed.

“Ok, holding my suspicions for a bit, these aliens are alright for now if they can keep giving us stuff like this,” Marcus said. “Now, I just want to sleep.”

“I hear that, brother. This has been a full on day.” Abel’s deep voice rumbled through the chamber as he settled into a comfortable position, taking up a lounger to himself.

A familiar face popped up beside Sal as he leant back. “Are the furnishings to your liking, Salvador?” G9 asked, translator not carrying across the quavering whispers of their actual voice.

“Oh yeah, G9, I think you’ve done a grand job.” Sal closed his eyes and grinned. “Damn fine job.” A snap from the alien seemed to signal appreciation of some kind. “I know you’ve done a lot so far, and I hate to impose G9, but you guys haven’t happened to have grabbed any food from the pods we came in, have you?” In his rush to explore his environment, Sal had forgotten to bring any of the emergency supplies from the escape shuttle.

Opening a single eye, he looked at G9 who startled at his words and begin looking around the room frantically, opening cabinets and quickly chatting to the other Cambiar in their native language. Sal wanted to laugh at the sudden franticness from his request, but was quickly shut up when, through the small crowd that hung by the door, a series of plastic packages made their way to the central table. Laid out in a pile were a number of MREs of varying flavours and meal choices. Normally, Sal would be pretty pissed to be forced to eat these constipation magnets, but heeding the pit in his stomach and wanting to relax after such an evening, he couldn’t wait to dig in.

In a fancy room on board an alien ship, filled with creatures from beyond the stars, the Torchers had their first meal since before the S-Jump. Their chatter was easy-going and relaxed, no one wanting to truly digest what had gone on so far that day. G9 had sat silently, watching Sal prepare his own meal. By the time the team had finished, many of the Cambiar had left. They left some fleshy looking handheld devices that could be used to signal the crew for assistance and pointed out some additional rooms attached to the lounge for bedrooms and the like. After finishing his food, he said his farewells to the Torchers. Thanking G9 deeply, and giving a wave, Sal made his way to a bedroom and collapsed onto a heavenly king-sized bed. This was far from the way he had expected the expedition to go, but he was plenty satisfied for now. Laying on the covers, he had thousands of questions he wanted to ask, and a million things he needed to know, but for now, Sal could wait. Instead, he closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.