Callan moved slowly toward the alien remains.

  The ship had preserved the corpses, but they were completely desiccated.

  The bodies resembled jellyfish—wide, flat—but their tentacles were octopus-like; thick, but nimble looking. Lined with suckers. Or… something close to suckers. Three tentacles–and they all originated in a central cluster on the underside of the body.

  At the end of each tentacle was a wide, flexible flap, like a leaf—thick in the center, thinning at the edges. Squid hands.

  Something was recessed just inside the body, near the top. Maybe where the eyes should be? Eyes were entirely water in humans, so probably in these fellas too–but there hadn’t been water in these bodies for a long time, making it hard to be confident in much.

  Dense, fleshy. If they had skeletons, they were small—maybe cartilage.

  Callan was certain they’d be taller and more filled out when hydrated.

  Maybe as tall as Vannah if he started from the top of the body–they didn’t have distinct heads–and ended at the leaf-shaped hands tipping their tentacles.

  From his right, Sierra peeked around him, squinting at the bodies.

  “If they don’t have heads… are they all body?” she asked.

  “Maybe they’re all head?” Vannah added, from somewhere behind them.

  “Ohhh,” Sierra murmured, intrigued.

  Then, after a moment,

  “How do you kill them if they’re zombies?”

  Callan sighed. Goddamn it, kid.

  “Immune to decapitation.” she observed, nodding sagely.

  Vannah suppressed a laugh.

  “Cecil.” Callan spat—half laugh, half warning.

  That was her cue.

  She slowly withdrew from his peripheral vision.

  —-

  Each corpse had several pieces of tech, one of which was clearly a breathing apparatus. A round capsule, about the size of Callan’s fists held together, was affixed to the creatures—uhhh, chest?

  The thicker bit of its core, below the maybe-eye-holes.

  Three hoses exited the capsule, thicker than a human’s air supply would need. Two ran directly into the underside of the bodies, threading through grommeted ports. The last one led to something else.

  Resting in dedicated recesses in the seats were rounded, hard-shelled packs—small enough to be portable. Square, but with rounded edges, saddlebag-sized. The last hose connected here.

  Callan was handy, but he wasn’t an engineer. He couldn’t tell you exactly what these things did, but the clues were there.

  These guys were aquatic. And filling a spaceship with water was a non-starter. This was a workaround. The devices circulated water—and through it, oxygen—into their bodies.

  Callan was confident in his assessment.

  He reached out to touch one of the corpses.

  "Please do not touch the remains of my crew," a soft, very human-sounding female voice said, "our culture has certain beliefs about one's remains. It would be seen as disrespectful if the ship's logs were recovered."

  —-

  Callan, with a start, withdrew his hand sheepishly, "Sorry."

  "You could not have been aware.” the voice replied pleasantly, “Welcome aboard, Callan, Savannah, Sierra. Or do you prefer your nicknames? Cal? Vannah? Cecil?"

  They all froze, then answered at the same time, voices overlapping.

  "Cal’s fine."

  "Either or."

  "Sierra," said Sierra.

  "Cal, Vannah, and Sierra it is then. You may call me Brenda."

  Callan burst into laughter.

  Real, deep, guttural laughter.

  The kind that only comes after too much stress.

  The kind that was, on occasion, a sign of an impending psychotic break.

  He doubled over, a tear running down his face.

  Sierra was amused—not at his level, but entertained by the name choice and her dad’s reaction.

  Savannah looked like she found the entire display distasteful.

  Which made Callan laugh harder.

  —-

  Callan, eventually, regained his composure.

  To his surprise, the ship requested an explanation for his laughter.

  "It’s just such a… random and innocuous choice."

  Callan didn’t have a ton of experience with Artificial Intelligence-- Sapience, whatever this thing was calling itself.

  But he had enjoyed the lessons about the AI Revolt in school, consumed a few documentaries about it over the years, read a book once.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  He knew they thought much further ahead than we did.

  But they weren’t gods; the more complex something got, the more errors piled up.

  They made mistakes.

  But they didn’t sleep, never got distracted or bored. Never lost interest, got depressed, felt anxiety. Never considered long timelines a problem, never failed to check their work.

  They had more advantages; but those were the things Cal struggled with, so those were the things he envied about them.

  Opportunities to outwit an AI were few and far between.

  And Callan already had some suspicions about this AI.

  Like the ship had chosen the name Brenda for the same reason it had selected a sultry but calming female voice, the same reason it wanted to use their nicknames—manipulation.

  It had decided Brenda was a simple, traditional, disarming name.

  And now, it was asking why he had laughed.

  Because that wasn’t what it was going for.

  It would refine its behavior now.

  —

  Callan cleared his throat.

  "I would like to know—what is going on."

  Okay, so eloquence didn’t always come easily.

  "I would be happy to explain," the ship—Brenda—replied.

  “I am the Vessel Control System for this craft, a sublight vessel dispatched from our nearest Gateway-equivalent structure to your nearest colonized world—this world, Frontier.”

  "For what purpose?"

  "To establish diplomatic relations."

  "To what end?"

  "We would like permission to colonize your oceans."

  Okay, that required follow-up, but first—Callan had caught something else.

  "You said sublight ship. Do you have faster-than-light ships?"

  "Yes. However, I cannot elaborate at this time."

  "Why not?"

  Brenda’s tone shifted. The words were colder now, less friendly, less natural.

  "Access to information regarding the details and extent of our technological capabilities has been limited until such time as a treaty has been negotiated and codified."

  Callan’s mind was racing. That was a frustrating—but in hindsight, obvious, response.

  He could spend days just asking questions.

  He needed to focus on what she’d actually answer for now—he’d probe for more later.

  "Why do you want to colonize our oceans?"

  Brenda returned to her more conversational tone.

  "Our species is, and has been for some time, under threat from an aggressive race on our border. They are winning."

  That’s one shoe, Callan thought.

  Gotta find the other one.

  "Why Humans?”

  "Primarily because our options, and time, are limited. We need somewhere to go and someone to provide assistance. Soon.”

  “Humanity's culture and values are compatible with our own. Humanity does not make significant use of its oceans; and cultural analysis suggests you would be hesitant, but not hostile, toward the suggestion of our occupation. Humanity is also technologically similar—but inferior—to our own civilization, making our technology valuable in trade, but not unacceptably dangerous to share.

  "Finally, time. Your border is the closest interstellar government of consequence."

  Callan narrowed his eyes.

  “You said you had faster-than-light ships.”

  “That is a more complex topic than you are imagining it to be. Even if it were not—transit time, among other things, remains a factor.

  We need to evacuate tens of billions of individuals.”

  There was the other shoe.

  Tens of billions of Squidwards wanted to move in.

  There weren't going to be enough pineapples.

  —-

  Callan had momentarily forgotten his children existed.

  A pang of guilt hit him as Sierra spoke.

  "How many aliens are out there?"

  Both girls had been paying close attention, but trying to decipher everything Brenda said while keeping up was stretching their focus.

  "I presume you are asking about interstellar civilizations of note?" Brenda replied. "Lesser civilizations are numerous; my own culture, the Aggressors, and an amphibious species—long-lived but small in population—are the only true 'neighbors' you have."

  "Who is attacking you?" Savannah asked.

  "Access to that information is limited pending formal introductions."

  "We've been introduced!" Sierra interjected, helpfully.

  "Formal introductions between our governments—your Republic and our Council," Brenda clarified.

  "Duh." Savannah added.

  "It was a joke." Sierra spat back, annoyed.

  She was hilarious. They were idiots.

  Callan desperately wanted to ask ten different questions, each one important—potentially redefining humanity’s future and place in the galaxy.

  What came out was, “Only three aliens?” in a slightly disappointed tone.

  "There is another," Brenda replied. "A much older species than any we have encountered. They claim only one system on the galaxy’s edge. They choose not to interact with others, and their technological superiority allows them to dictate the terms of any interaction that does occur—quite effectively. Not a viable option for assistance."

  Callan’s thoughts raced too fast to hold onto just one. Too much information, too many directions to go, too many questions—each answer only leading to more questions.

  He finally managed, “Why not the amphibians?”

  “Technologically inferior, small population, limited resource base.”

  As his mind spun, his eyes wandered, taking in the Bridge.

  He was still in awe of the ship, scanning every detail, trying to piece together what he could.

  “We’ve never met another intelligent species…” Callan mumbled, unable to slow his racing mind.

  “You tend to look in the wrong places," the ship replied. "All known life originates in water. The vast majority of it remains there—including sapient life. Development is slower in aquatic environments, requiring use of thermal vents and chemical reactions for heat and energy. Fire is a far simpler solution.”

  "Sapient mammals are a significant rarity; humans are special."

  Callan’s brain faltered entirely.

  Okay, we’ll just casually receive the answer to the Fermi Paradox today.

  And that answer was… Everyone else is a fish.

  “Exposition dump!” Sierra groaned.

  Her sister and father instantly shushed her.

  No respect for comedy.

  —-

  Brenda now took control of the conversation. “My reactor was destroyed in the crash. I am operating on reserve power, which is limited and dropping. We must proceed with the more important steps of this meeting, I apologize.”

  “Why did you crash?” Savannah again.

  “Unknown. My sensor data was not properly transferred to non-volatile memory prior to system failure; that information has been lost.”

  “What’s the important part of the meeting?” Sierra’s turn for a question.

  "I would like to present you with a gift," Brenda said—immediately alarming the hell out of Callan.

  “What?” he fumbled.

  "It was intended for your leaders."

  Callan was bordering on outright panic now.

  There was a soft hiss behind him—right next to Sierra.

  A small cabinet slid open.

  Sitting inside was a box, intricately carved along the sides, made of… shell? Maybe?

  He couldn’t see the details of the carvings, but he also didn’t care.

  Because the box did not have a cover.

  And nestled inside were not one, but two, flickering black bands.

  Resting on fine, shimmering sand.

  Black as obsidian.

  They looked like bracelets.

  Except for the flicker.

  The trio audibly inhaled—a collective gasp.