“There is a bit of a problem with the application.”

Those words, seemingly innocuous, had become the bane of Maria’s existence over the past few years. When the International Space Station first received the signals over 5 years ago, it was assumed to be a sensor malfunction. After multiple tests, backup sensors, and a physical check were done and determined it was real, most shifted to thinking it was a hoax. How could it not be? Aliens, part of some kind of federation, were on their way sending offers of peace and cooperation.

Most countries agreed to inform the public once more thorough tests could be done. But as they say, two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead. And if it doesn’t involve aliens. Before the day was over, someone had released most of the data collected to the public, including the translated message.

Initially, it didn’t get much attention. As it turns out, most people aren’t willing to believe a guy just saying “Trust me, I work for NASA”. But once governments saw someone had told the press what had happened, they scrambled to release their own statements, seeing it as just a matter of time before everyone caught on. Better to look as if they weren’t concealing critical information from their own citizens.

So now major governments across the world were all confirming that ‘yes, aliens exist’ and ‘no, we aren’t sure if they’re lying or not.’ That was evidently not what people wanted to hear in such a confusing time. Many jumped to the conclusion of an alien invasion, while others still believed it was a trick perpetrated by the lizard Illuminati to draw attention away from failing code in their bird drones. There was a period of civil unrest. Riots gripped major cities, people fled into the countryside, and bunker construction was at an all-time high, surpassing peak numbers during the Cold War. But eventually, things calmed down.

Included in the message sent was a large document detailing the many rules and regulations of the Peaceful Collection of People that Move in the Endless Sky (I am told it sounds much more eloquent in Federation standard). This included what was required of a planet to join as a fully-fledged member. The United Nations set up a new agency to handle the mess created by the alien’s announcement.

While militaries and governments started planning in case their intentions for Earth were less than honest, the United Nations Extraterrestrial Organization hired teams of experts to prepare for a peaceful first contact. Linguists crafted the perfect lexicon to use, one that was soft and non-aggressive while including multiple major languages. Lawyers and Judges poured over the legal codes, searching for potential pitfalls, loopholes, or general problems. Engineers designed and constructed a landing pad up to the specifications given, sprucing it up with architectural additions from a wide range of cultures. Artists crafted masterpieces in every medium, from graffiti to chiseled marble, all assembled near the landing pad as gifts to be given to the first extraterrestrial visitor to Earth.

When the day finally came, it felt like the entire world was watching with bated breath. Large screens had been constructed in every city and town square. Bars were packed, their televisions at full volume. New York City, the location of the landing pad, was filled to the brim with onlookers hoping to see this momentous occasion. Even those who retreated to bunkers kept a TV or radio on, if solely out of a desire to be proven right.

It had been monumental in its mundanity. The ship, a small, sleek vessel made from flowing lines of metal, landed silently and a party of four walked out. Actually, they didn’t all walk out. One of them had been encased in what we later learned was an environmental suit. It had treads instead of legs and acted as a sort of wheelchair.

When the leading delegate approached the Secretary-General of the UN surrounded by world leaders, all of humanity held their breath. Then a hand was extended in a timeless greeting, and with no pause save a small glance, the alien grasped the outstretched hand. The first handshake with an extraterrestrial was broadcast around the globe.

But when the pageantry and showmanship ended, it was time for paperwork on a galactic scale. And Maria had been on the receiving end of that deluge for the past 5 years.

“What is it this time?” Maria was getting tired of dealing with every little snag in the Federation's frankly Byzantine legal code. Apparently, Federation law was looser in daily life, with local systems being given high levels of autonomy. But a new species joining would affect the entire Federation. Anything of that scale meant regulations and oversight, and lots of it.

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Her liaison, a blob-like alien isolated from Earth’s apparently toxic atmosphere by an environmental suit, projected a scrolling wall of text from its holo-emitter. “Well, there is a part of the Rules of Integration that specify all groups on a potential member planet must have had their lives improved before they can join. Usually, it’s skipped over, because ‘improved’ has been interpreted to be very broad. Basically, if you have explored the whole planet and life, in general, has gotten better for everyone, then you’re good.”

She leaned back in my chair. The slight stretch drew cracks from her back, a gift from Maria’s perpetually poor posture. “So what’s the problem? It sounds like we fit the bill.”

The blob’s artificial arm moved through the hologram, searching for a specific section. “Have you ever heard of the North Sentinal Islanders?”

The name rang a bell, but as Maria turned to her computer, an aid leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Quarantined island tribe off the eastern coast of India.”

She tilted her head, hoping the gesture would be picked up by the fancy translators the Federation had. “Seriously, that’s the problem? A tiny stone age tribe?”

“This is a very serious issue. Differences in culture and customs often lead to misunderstandings and social strife between federation member states, so the baseline requirements are valued highly.”

Maria sighed, wishing for not the first time that she could drink without sparking an interplanetary incident. The Federation had been friendly so far, but no one wanted to test how fragile their egos were with a drunken rant. Lifting her head up from her palms, she asked wearily. “How do we fix this?”

“You would need to provide them something that helps improve their daily lives.” They said it so casually like she could just wave a magic wand and know what to do.

“But we have helped them. The whole reason they are quarantined is to prevent any outbreaks of disease among the Sentinelese population.”

The blob gyrated back and forth. Maria hoped that was their species’ equivalent of nodding no, compared to the alternatives. “Unfortunately, not doing negative things to them doesn’t count as improving their lives. You don’t give people accolades for not murdering people, do you?”

Maria had been quickly skimming an article her assistant had pulled up on the Sentinelese while her liaison spoke. One part of the summary of their situation caught her eye. “Well, what about that iron they got from shipwrecks? That’s probably the only metal on the island.”

Again the blob gyrated. “If anything, that takes away from your argument. Improvement by salvaging is the type of thing that happens in rebellions or during wars. Even in your case, it was merely a byproduct of your actions, not the main goal.”

“So we have to purposefully provide them with something that improves their daily lives?”

Their response was, in Maria’s humble opinion, curt for a diplomat. “Yes.”

A heavy breath accompanied Maria’s next statement. “But we can’t go there in case we infect them with a disease that might wipe them out.”

“Which would then be classified as genocide, automatically rejecting your current application until sufficient governmental reform is enacted or a new government is established.” They spoke robotically, repeating a line Maria had heard a few dozen times by now. How much of the code did this blob memorize?

She paused, her face scrunching up in frustration. “And you can’t provide us with any fancy space tech to prevent such a scenario from happening because?”

“Federation protocol is to not share any sufficiently advanced technology with non-federation members.” There was a slight pause as they seemed to think about something. “Plus we just don’t have the right equipment for that type of thing with us.”

Maria leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling to focus her thoughts. “What would count as improving the Sentinilese’s lives?”

The question seemed to raise their spirits. They brought up the hologram again, pulling up a dense block of text with numerous footnotes. “At the very basic level, it has to be something that lasts multiple generations and that they can utilize. For example, you can’t give them a spaceship because they don’t know and can’t learn how to fly it.”

Maria thought about what made her happy. What in her life would be useful to a tribe whose most advanced technology was the bow and arrow?

As she pondered, her eyes drifted across the room. They settled on the windowsill, or rather what was hanging from it. A row of potted plants. “What if we sanitize and then perform an aerial seeding of some non-invasive plant? Something useful, or at least pretty.”

The blob paused for a moment. Then it spoke again in its strange, goopy language. The translator relayed their response in English. “That could work, it would just have to be suited to the climate and relatively safe for the island’s biome. Nothing that would outcompete the local species or cause an ecological collapse.”

Maria nodded in satisfaction. She stood up and offered a handshake to her guest. “I’ll have our top researchers find the best specimen by the end of this week. Were there any other hiccups?”

The blob didn’t have to stand up, seeing as it didn’t, or couldn’t, use a chair. One of its tentacles wrapped around Maria’s arm, the mucus that made up its body still encased in the rubber-like suit. “Yes, apparently the English to Federation Standard translator is malfunctioning. On a related note, why did you ask me if there were any involuntary contractions of the throat just now? I don’t possess a throat.”