First Contact

Beep. Beep. Beep. B-

Groaning, I waved my hand through the glowing hologram. It hovered in front of my face for a few more seconds before blipping into oblivion.

“Jesus,” I mumbled to no one, “They really had to install this shit?”

Staring blankly at the low ceiling, I laid there in the dark for another minute before heaving myself up to a sitting position. I could hear the sound of my joints cracking over the hum of the spaceship, and I winced at the discomfort.

Suddenly, the metal walls lit up with built-in light strips, and the irritating voice of my “personal assistant” appeared in my right ear. It scared the soul out of me.

“Keith! Good morning. Big day today! How would you like to start it?” it prattled into my head.

I dragged a hand roughly down my face, still squinting in the bright light. “Not like this. Echo, turn off, shut down, whatever. Come back in thirty, and turn the lights off.”

“You got it, Keith!” it exclaimed before finally muting itself.

I’m never going to get used to this, I thought, glaring at, once again, no one.

Sighing, I groggily looked around my room. Now that the artificial lights were off, the only light came from the convex porthole window next to my head and barely washed the vacant space with a dim light. I could barely see the basic metal cabinets lining the wall opposite of me, or the empty desk beside it. And, of course, that office swivel chair I couldn’t seem to escape. The ultimate space suite in all its steely glory.

I glanced at the time on a digital clock beside my bed, which shared the nightstand with a framed photo I had brought from home. 6:32 AM, it read in blinking red lines.

Leaning back, I turned my gaze to the left and peered out at what was mostly just pitch-black darkness, but after a few seconds, I noticed the tiny, glowing pricks of light that speckled the canvas. I’ve heard of astronauts going paranoid, floating in the emptiness of space, but not me. The sight of stars made it easy to lose myself in my thoughts.

I knew that everyone was skeptical about this mission. Of course I did. When the news spread, the public went batshit crazy, raiding stores and stocking up on food. But, in their defense, an alien interaction wasn’t something to take lightly. A face-to-face, first contact sort of thing, to start an interplanetary relationship of peace and unity. On a second’s notice, the UN had gathered a bunch of people and shot them into space, except with a shitload of artillery and bombs. You know, in case they needed to blast their way out. Not that I knew how to do that.

I knew they were wrong, though.

We’ve known for centuries that we weren’t alone, and we finally had proof. My guess is that both sides knew how big of a deal this was, and that neither would want to mess this up. It was the smart thing to do. Weapons would only alarm the other side, and who knew what would happen then?

Of course, I knew the risks I’d be taking. The sacrifices. But I had a sure feeling in my gut that I needed to be here, and that we would ultimately make peace. I knew in my heart that this mission would be a successful one. It had to be.

I tore my gaze away from the cosmos and looked over at the framed picture of my wife, gently picking it up.

I would never forget the day they called me, as I was getting ready for work. I would never forget how I had turned to my wife, or the way she had looked at me as if she trusted me to do the right thing. We all knew it was risky, going out into space to meet these creatures with no clue what to expect. We all knew, however, that it would be worth the risk to find out. I would never forget how Aleiyah had taken my hand, cupped my face, and whispered that I needed to go.

So, I had put my hand on her pregnant stomach, kissed both of them goodbye, and packed my bags.

I missed them. I missed them beyond words.

But I had a job to do here now, and I had billions of people relying on me. No pressure.

So I reluctantly put the photo back down, forced myself to get up, and clapped twice to turn the lights back on.

“Hey, Echo-”

“At your service, Keith!”

Its response was so lightning-fast that it made me jump, and I cleared my throat.

“How long until regrouping?”

“Fifteen minutes, Keith.”

“Alright, heat up my food. It’s already in the microwave. I’ll get dressed real quick.”

“Not a problem!” it chirped enthusiastically.

I walked over to the farthest wall and pressed a hand against the middle. A hidden door in the wall slid open seamlessly, revealing a small rack of uniforms and clothes from home. I picked out a single-piece navy uniform and quickly slipped it on.

Ding.

“All ready, Keith!”

I retrieved my aluminum food package from the mini microwave on top of the desk and instantly devoured the rice and beans. As I finished the last bites, I reached the wall beside my bed and opened another hidden door that led out to a narrow corridor.

“Echo, map to the main deck,” I commanded the AI as the doors slid closed silently behind me.

“Coming right up!”

A tiny blue hologram map of the ship appeared in the top right corner of my vision, drawing a path from my current position to the deck. Even after half a month on board, the layout was too complicated for me to memorize.

I followed the map as I turned the corner and continued down several more identical hallways made of gleaming steel, past the other crew cabins and countless storage rooms, before finally stepping into a spacious room.

There wasn’t much in the room besides a handful of metal tables and uncomfortable chairs; it was where the crew ate together. In the center, a group of nine other people dressed in the same navy uniform had gathered around the captain, who stood tall in a clean black suit. He gave me a look as I hurried in.

“As I was saying, we head outside in forty-five minutes. I trust that everyone knows what they’re doing?”

A succession of nods.

“Then we’ll head out now to the hatch. Follow me.”

He turned and began walking out the room at a brisk pace. The others rushed to follow suit.

My heart beat wildly inside my chest as we went through yet another set of hallways and rooms, making more lefts and rights than I could count. I wiped my sweaty palms on my suit, trying to seem composed. I looked around me, though, and saw that everyone else was just as nervous. Who wouldn’t be?

After about fifteen minutes of fast-paced walking, the hallway opened up to a small, empty room. On the other side, the majority of the wall was one big glass door. Beyond it, I saw the vast white initiation room bustling with the rest of the ship’s personnel.

The captain scanned his hand on a small black square on the glass and the door slid open with a hiss. We stepped forward as a group and quickly crossed the vast room to the other side, where yet another door was waiting for us. I looked around at the personnel dressed in white, tensely carrying boxes and equipment back and forth in preparation for the final inception.

This is it, I told myself. You’ve trained for this. Be calm.

A team of more personnel dressed in white suits waited for us behind the second door, and went to work as soon as we walked into the dressing room of sorts. It, too, had gleaming white walls.

Why do they like white so much? I wondered half-heartedly, anxiously sweating from head to toe.

I continued to think stupid, listless thoughts as the crew members retrieved our spacesuit and helped us into them. I had practiced this a hundred times over, but I still managed to fumble nervously with the latches and buckles. It didn’t help that no one spoke a word; we were all tense with anticipation.

Once I attached my helmet with a soft hiss of hair and tested the internal radio channel, it was time to go.

The crew members backed away to make space as we lumbered past in the chunky suits to a third door. This one was fortified in steel and was locked with an automated keypad.

It opened up to the initiation room, a vast white chamber with high ceilings, where a handful of personnel were already setting up equipment in their own spacesuits. The equipment was either bolted to the floor or connected to the wall with a sturdy cable. At this point, the captain turned to us again.

“Everyone ready?” he buzzed into the intercom.

This brought back the magnitude of the situation, and I felt the anxiety rise up again to my throat. I could already see my heavy breath fogging up the helmet’s glass screen.

After a series of nods and yeses both from our group and the team behind the airlock, another crackly voice appeared on the intercom: “We’re all ready, captain. Say the word.”

He looked around at our group once more, scanning our faces through our fogged helmets.

“Be calm, ladies and gentlemen. You’ve trained for this,” he said slowly, looking meaningfully into each of our eyes. “Alright, Johnson, call it.”

“Copy,” responded Johnson. “Everyone at positions, like we practiced. T1, gravity control.”

“T1, zero gravity on,” called another voice.

I felt the gravity gradually begin to shift, and my feet slowly lifted off the ground.

I could hear my pulse ringing in my head; my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. My breath came out in short pants as I did my best not to hyperventile.

This is it.

“T7, open front.”

“T7, opening front lock now.”

The first encounter.

The empty white wall in front of us suddenly hissed and split in the middle. The two large doors slowly opened to the sides, and I gasped along with everyone else on the intercom.

As the doors opened before us, they revealed a stunning swirl of colours and light. Cosmic clouds of pink and purple and blue reflected in my eyes, painting the black canvas, blanketed with flecks of light from lightyears away.

Hello, whispered a silky voice in my head. It wasn’t from the intercom.

A million stars gleamed through the dark like beacons of hope in the shadows of cold space. The cosmos loomed before our meager silhouettes.

This was first contact.

It was wonderful.