​Landing

The UNSF Hammarskjöld settled into orbit, and Yang Jun-Ho, as ground team leader, assumed command per naval regulations. His first act was to call an all-hands meeting in the mess hall. For an hour, he briefed the crew on how to behave around aliens. Many of whom had been on multiple missions stared blankly until he asked for questions.

The ship's captain asked, "Have you or Miss Danilovna heard from the colony leader? Our hails for landing clearance are going unanswered."

Jun-Ho connected his earbud to the ship's communications. "New Bingham Canyon colony, this is Jun-Ho of the United Nations First Contact Team. We are ready to land. How copy, over?"

Seconds ticked by with no answer. Then the muffled voice of the colony leader came over the speaker. "Yes. They are friendly. Please come negotiate."

The captain raised his voice. "Clearance to land at the platform farthest from the alien ship?"

More seconds passed. "Yes. Please land."

The ship touched down on the landing platform situated between the town of New Bingham Canyon and the copper mine, officially designated Site 457-B. Despite growing up in a megacity crowded with skyscrapers, Bryony marveled at the incomprehensible size of the mine complex.

Colossal buildings and massive equipment sprawled over an area seventeen times larger than the town. A web of conveyor belts and pipes rising one hundred feet in the air connected everything. Nestled next to the dirt-streaked industrial structures, the alien ship's simple elongated egg shape and smooth hull looked elegant.

The assembled group of aliens outside the General Management Office looked miniscule by comparison. As the human delegation approached, Bryony's excitement made her want to pee. Her lifelong dream was about to be realized.

Her dreams deflated when they drew close enough to make out details.

The aliens were so unalien. So mundane. No profusion of spider eyes or menacing tentacles. Reinaldo's jaded attitude made sense now.

They were a giant flightless bird species, seven to eight feet tall, and otherwise indistinguishable from their Earth cousins. Even their rhythmic bobbing reminded her of a childhood friend's parrot, excited for a cracker. Giant talking birds might make for nice pets, except these giant birds might think the same of humans.

Their feathers dazzled in an explosion of color, but Bryony's eye was drawn to their clothing. Each alien was festooned in vibrant-colored outfits and a gaudy amount of glittering jewelry. First Contact Team leader Jun-Ho halted everyone when the aliens started dancing and peacocking.

He asked over his shoulder, "Could they be an offshoot of the Flocklings of Antares whom we already have relations with?"

"I don't think so, sir," Reinaldo replied. "I've been to Antares. Flocklings are always a group of four birds with none larger than a vulture."

"Good to know. If they are, this was a wasted trip. Where are the colony and mine leaders to meet us? Miss Danilovna?"

"Probably GMO conference room drinking coffee. Is time for shift change," the Russian replied.

Noticing the bird-creatures had stopped their display, Jun-Ho told the group to hang back. He stepped forward and bowed.

A hawk-like alien approached him. The alien leader's sharp, intelligent eyes struck Bryony. They were golden yellow with a ring of bright green around the iris and seemed to pierce right through her. His beak was long and sharp, and his feathers were vibrant blue, green, and yellow. The other aliens were equally resplendent in the blue-white morning sunlight.

Jun-Ho's voice quivered as he looked up at the imposing bird-creature. "I am a human of Earth. We come in peace."

Bryony couldn't help but cringe at the low gasps and groans of her teammates. Did he quote an overused movie line?

Tatiana growled, "This why you don't put political appointees in charge. If tall bird people have low tolerance for idiots, they will eat him like worm."

The alien leader turned to Reinaldo, who was leaning on his crutch, inspected him, and warbled a melodious bird song. Everyone's communications earbuds translated the song to, "And you, with the big stick, do you come in less peaces?"

Reinaldo stammered, "I, uh, come in peace too. It's a prosthetic, not a weapon."

Jun-Ho cleared his throat. "I am the designated representative, and I assure you all the humans come in peace."

The bird-man nodded and sang a response. "Delightful, you all come in peaces." He rubbed the ends of his arm feathers together. "Your peaces are precisely what our people seek! I am called Xoc. You have the great honor to be in the presence of the Preeners of Prolaxon."

Jun-Ho extended a hand. "I am called Jun-Ho. I am honored to meet you, Xoc, and your fellow Preeners."

Xoc took Jun-Ho's hand and pulled it to his beak, licking and nibbling it. Jun-Ho pulled his hand back, his face flushed with embarrassment. He apologized and demonstrated a handshake with Reinaldo.

Xoc crouched, extended a feathered arm-wing, and shook Jun-Ho's hand. "Is this Earth?"

"No," Jun-Ho replied. "This is a desolate planet we mine for its metals. Earth is a beautiful mix of biomes with vast oceans, forests, jungles, deserts, and arctic tundras. What can you tell us of your home planet?"

Xoc's eyes gleamed. "Prolaxon is a jungle planet hailed throughout the galaxy as the land of exquisite fashion and delectable cuisine. How many humans does Earth and your colonies hold?"

"Ten billion humans call Earth home and another billion are spread throughout our solar system and three others, not including this one."

Xoc and the other preeners whistled and cooed. Several preeners raised their head feathers. "Eleven billion humans? How...delightful," Xoc trilled, his voice a melodic mix of chirps and warbles. "You must have vast resources to feed so many. We Preeners number only in the hundreds of millions, but our influence spans fifteen star systems. Tell me, Jun-Ho of Earth, why would your people leave Earth for this desolate world?"

Jun-Ho straightened his posture, clearly trying to project confidence. "This planet, while not beautiful, is rich in metal resources vital to our civilization's growth."

Xoc's emerald-ringed eyes fixed on Jun-Ho as he tilted his head. "You call yourselves a civilization while wearing guano-cloth and no jewelry," he said and cackled.

Whispering over his shoulder, Jun-Ho asked, "Uh, Reinaldo? How do I respond?"

"I believe he said our uniforms look like, wiping cloth... er, toilet paper. I believe it's a joke."

Jun-Ho smiled broadly while beads of sweat rolled off his forehead as he ad-libbed. "Yes, our attire is not as elegant as yours, out of respect."

Xoc waved a wing-arm. "A species that can express humor is one we can entertain. Come, let us discuss relations between our flocks."

As the Preeners walked away, Jun-Ho turned to address his group. "First Contact Team on me. Everyone else return to the ship."

Jealousy dampened Bryony's spirit as she watched the First Contact Team join the Preeners. The colorful aliens glided away, their tail and wing-arm feathers rustling with each graceful step. What history is about to be made?

She turned to go when her earbud buzzed. Jun-Ho's voice filled her ear. "There is no one here. When I asked the aliens, they made a coughing sound like a sick person. Dr. Sherman and Miss Danilovna, find out where the colonists are and if they need your assistance."

Tatiana's face showed her disdain for Jun-Ho. In a soft Russian accent, she muttered, "The gall to think he can give orders and we jump. You are ship crew, not First Contact Team, da?"

Bryony straightened her shoulders, determined not to let Tatiana's sour attitude rattle her. "I am the ship's Medical Officer, Dr. Sherman. Your stateroom is across from mine..." Tatiana showed no sign of recognition. "We've passed each other dozens of times during the flight."

Tatiana's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh yes. I see it now. Did not recognize you. You did something with your hair... for once?"

Bryony bristled at the jab, but admired Tatiana's effortless elegance. The other woman always looked like a movie star, even in zero-g. Bryony self-consciously ran a hand through her own wavy brown hair, feeling frumpy and out of place.

Eager to shift the focus away from herself, Bryony asked, "Shall we look for someone in town?"