Hatching
Satellians emerge from the egg in a fairly well-developed state compared to other species, both on their homeworld and elsewhere. Admittedly the hatchlings have only the front four limbs out of six, but they emerge with fully working sense organs and are immediately able to form a conscious image of their surroundings. They can move around, chew their own food, and clean themselves. Within days they even understand some rudimentary words. Youngsters develop into adults in several stages, called Great Moultings, in which the body hibernates while some internal organs are completely broken down and re-assembled. This is the most vulnerable time for youngsters, who would traditionally be glued onto the undersides of their favoured parent for the duration, a custom that has been dying out since the industrial age brought about the partial taming of Hmmaiaa. By the third Great Moulting, the rear pair of limbs are fully workable, and the sex organs also appear - it may take several more decades to reach fertility, but at this point the individual is considered an adult. The length of the whole process is very variable, depending on climate and diet, and social, mental and genetic factors, so it is near impossible to judge the true age of a young Satellian.
Durmu Nurl was a young female prior to her third moulting, and was in no great hurry to reach that rite of passage. She lived in a small outdoors kinship near one of the great undercities on Hmmaiaa. Every day there seemed to be more tremors and general disturbance emanating from below. Her parents had moved on to another kinship to hatch another egg, leaving her in the care of her extended family. Such a thing was perfectly normal; Satellian children often grow tried of their parents within a few years, and vice versa. She was happy, but there weren't many other youngsters around, so she imagined friends for herself. In fact, she spent so much time imagining them that they appeared in her dreams.
She liked to paint pictures of them, too. Being a youngster, her rear pair of limbs had yet to appear, so her method was to crawl over the canvas and work on a small area at a time, delicately holding a brush between one of her front limbs and her mouth-parts. She had quite a talent for it, so they said. But the people she painted weren't the same as her people. One resembled a flattened blob with legs; another a strange mass of jagged limbs and exoskeleton; one had something like red spikes sticking out of its head; another had a body like a cylinder, supported on three tentacles, with something like a mouth held above.
'Who are they' the elders would ask her.
'My friends'
'They look strange. You've been reading up the image-books, haven't you? Is that a swamp creatures from the Huulurr lands?'
'No, Elder. They live on other places. Sometimes I dream about it, and remember things from before my now-life. Don't you remember from before your now-life, Elder?
'Hmm.... Well now... Maybe I did once... Some people think we have special memories when we hatch out, but they seem to disappear after the third Moulting...'
'Then I don't want to moult again!'
And they would do the equivalent of chuckling, and make those comments that elders make, and then they would start to discuss philosophy and science and spirituality and politics. They would always try to involve her, but it was hard to follow their words sometimes. She preferred to leave them to it.
Ten years later.
The tranquillity of Blue Arch Cave Square Section #13 was disrupted by the sudden appearance of a noisy pod-like motor vehicle. The smaller automated wheelers of the undercity tunnels struggled to keep out of its way. The Satellian occupant, the Adjutant Director of The Agreement, was squashed awkwardly in the front section. Luckily his front limbs had little trouble manipulating the alien guidance controls. He slowed and stopped next to a friend, who was standing with a inquisitive expression. A side hatch gracefully hissed open.
'So?..'
'Snuddian, you know. Alien technology. Big kudos value on exchange, if I don't wreck it first.'
'Wondrous!'
'Yes... Our last trade mission swapped it for a surface walker vehicle. Trade in Satellian stuff is making quite a lot of Hul-ult-urg-lort back there on Snud. Millions even. Or is it thousands, I don't remember. Their money has a lot of decimal points.'
'So... Does it go fast?'
'It used to... It was quieter before...'
'Hmm... Looks a bit muddy... Missing a wheel there? '
'Yes. I tried riding it through the Murnnuruu Rockfields. Didn't work so well. '
'Ah... Incompatibility... Unfortunate... The whole aura of it is... Stimulating...'
'Yes.'
'Hey... Is it true what they are saying about the Snud and their sex organs?'
---
The Lelinthian Transit Event had caused a wave of something like panic to spread across Hmmaiaa. This only intensified when it was realised what had happened to the missing flight crew. There were sympathetic outpourings of surprise and horror from the colonies. Then the arguments started...
Six days in, and the grand meeting room was thick with intoxicating Hulunnurr fumes; the plant itself had now shrivelled to a brown-blue husk, hanging forlornly from the ceiling. Some of the participants were not exactly conscious, but this time nobody was hibernating, a sign of how seriously the pressing matters were considered. There was barely a five minute pause to be found between dialogues. Everyone was unsettled by the pace of events. The Snud alone would have been more than enough of a puzzle and a concern. But then there were the Lelinthians. The participants of the meeting found themselves agreeing on one thing: the Lelinthians were dangerous. Dangerous aliens, willing and able to violate the vessels and the bodies of their fellow sentient species. Immature, unbalanced, yet with the apparent ability to reach Satellian worlds at any time and without warning. This was a most unwelcome reality.
The day before, the Adjutant Director has been lucky enough to witness the Transit Event from the observation cupola of a low-orbit space station. Some said it was bright blue, others orange, but to him it seemed like a crimson-purple halo surrounding a starless expanse of black, visually distorting the space behind it. It was a beautiful, masterful manipulation of the laws of physics. If only the Lelinthians could have fulfilled our expectations of an elder-brother species. Nobody had expected the aliens to have such alien attitudes.
When Satellians disagreed with each other, they could appeal to the community, and see who had the greatest sympathy. If that didn't settle the matter, they could have a formal duel. Disputes could be settled with honour. Groups of individuals never fought each other, not since the murky origins of Satellian civilisation. If you really wanted to express yourself, you could whip yourself with metal chains, and walk naked in the fiercest storms. Something that people would understand. But how would you resolve a grievance with an alien race? One that didn't understand you and had no intention of trying? One that had weapons mounted on its spaceships?
The venerable Core Director motioned his antennae in a way that signalled his intention to speak.
'The Lelinthians complied with our request. They returned what remained of our missing crew. They violated our ships and our personnel, but equally, we could be accused of violating their home territory. We have agreed to leave each other in peace. There is no dispute.'
One of the participants replied within moments, leaving such a short pause as to be contemptuous. 'And we should trust them? They violated our people! There must be repercussions!'
Her nearest neighbour in the room practically butted in. 'The weaponisation of space is unthinkable!"
'It's already happened! But that's not what I'm getting at. Kinships are leaving the Agreement. We must show leadership in interstellar matters, as we are expected to.'
'Well now, if you're referring to those communes seeking unregulated contact with the Snud, that's an unrelated issue'
'I'm talking about vigilante fleets patrolling the colonies...'
'Well, that's a nonsense. The dreaming of a few crackpots'
'The seeds have been planted, and will grow with time. We must regain confidence by seeking reparations from the Lelinthians.'
'What we need is to equip our ships with adequate defences and, as a last resort, self-destruct devices, so that we never has such embarrassment again'.
The Satellian equivalent of an argument was breaking out. The Core Director was stirring again when someone new entered the room. For a meeting that had long since progressed past its first day, this was most unusual. It was the representative from the Special Technical Kinship of the Ulumm-Bukk core colony. He carried a large cuboid case in one hand, and a cylindrical data pod in another. He lowered his front end in salutation as the doors closed behind him. Just enough fresh, cold air sneaked into the room to unsettle everyone and ensure that they all had their eyes on him, whether he wanted it or not.
'Greetings and apologies. I encountered technical problems in my travels. I also took the time to present certain special artefacts.'
He got straight to the point. He placed his case on the main table, finding a spot that avoided the Snuddian ornaments while keeping a respectful distance from the Core Director. He then hit the auto-release catch. The outer coverings slid down to reveal a glass box of murky liquid; not quite murky enough to hide the coiled and partially-dissected brain core of an adult Satellian, complete with attached eyes, ganglions and upper mouthparts.
'Gentlewomen', he began - gender specific greetings were a fading tradition, but it was customary to address a group according to its role or activity, regardless of the actual gender of those present. Meetings like this were perceived as belonging to the feminine sphere of virtues. 'This is what remains of Flight Technician Urunnan Munu Unn, a father and an only son, former resident of a small hydroponic farming Kinship on the sister-moon of Saimue. He went out into the void to seek the enlightenment of a great galactic civilisation. He returned like this.'
...
'Poor luck, that chap'
'Yes, most unfortunate'
Satellians took great offence at any infringement upon their species as a whole. But the individual tragedy regarding someone they did not know was not really a matter for concern. The Ulumm-Bukkian was unfazed. While plugging his data pod into the main console, he continued. 'Gentlewomen, I believe this is the fate that awaits all of us, unless we take action now. We must mobilise as never before'
He presented a plan that was years ahead of its time, to put it modestly. 3D projectors sprung to life as he rushed through the blueprints for new power systems and weapons, then moved onto his ingenious modular hull components, and then moved onto his greatest work, a plan for a coordinated battle fleet with a menagerie of specialised vessels. Largest of all were the 'Mothers', command ships with reinforced hulls, designed to carry masses of missiles, drones and inhabited fighter craft, as well as repair and engineering vehicles; then there were the 'Lancers', ships with extremely large and powerful laser-type weapons, designed to engage from vast distances; on the front line were 'Duelists', ships with extremely thick armour and short-range weapons of all kinds, carrying combat drones and specially-trained operatives for boarding actions; 'Ghosts' were small and stealthy craft designed to disrupt enemy targeting and communications with special electromagnetic weapons; 'Immune Cells' were similarly small, stealthy and manoeuvrable ships with masses of anti-missile and anti-drone weapons, designed to protect the rest of the formation; finally the 'Destructor Cells' were small and inexpensive craft, potentially unmanned and carrying little more than engines, targeting systems and missile launch tubes.
Exotic blueprints, calculations and projections swirled through the air. A symphony of destruction. The disembodied eyes of Urunnan Munu Unn looked on impassively from within the case of preservative fluid.
To the Adjutant Director, the sudden stream of consciousness was most welcome. Invigorating, even if its content was horrifying. While others gathered their thoughts, he took his turn to speak up. 'It is clear that the local galaxy is a more dangerous and less mature place than any of us imagined. I agree that we must protect our ships and crews against violation, but this is going too far, and assuming too much. The last thing we need is to instigate an interstellar arms race. We lack the resources, in any case.' The rest of the room was in general agreement.
'I humbly present my work and my motivations. You will judge it as you will, Gentlewomen, but it seems obvious to me that the arms race has already begun.'
That sparked another lively discussion. Finally, after another ten hours or so, the Core Director took a turn to speak.
'As you may know, there are over one billion of us now. In all of history our race has never been so numerous. We've reached the point where we can't all return to Hmmaiaa. Home doesn't have enough room for us, it would be too big a drain on her. And so we are committed to living on many worlds. We've already passed the threshold. We have not yet found a galactic brotherhood of elder species, but we must not give up hope. Ideas and imagination are to be welcomed, but we must not act out of fear. We can reach out to the Snud, to those who offer genuine friendship. The universe intends that we continue to push back the boundaries, and so we shall, in a responsible way.'
The meeting was adjourned soon after, due to exhaustion more than anything else. The priority was to be a long-term development of resources. The Adjutant soon found himself riding around the great undercity again in his Snuddian motor pod, this time with as many of his curious colleagues as would fit into the vehicle, which wasn't very many. The auto guidance was a blessing, given his slurrly and partially intoxicated state. He didn't feel like joining the philosophical discussion going on behind him. A monotonous tunnel section was coming up ahead. He took the time to reflect on the fortunes of the Core Director; the problem wasn't so much the dangerous aliens, he figured, it was more the failure to find the promised galactic enlightenment. Reassurances were evaporating every day. No doubt many Satellians were looking into the night's sky right now with a sense of nervousness. Perhaps he would support a replacement for the Core Director. It would be difficult, though. The great Old One had such an aura of authority.
The vehicle was a little too wide for this particular section of tunnel. It ground to a halt amidst a hail of sparks and tortured metallic screeching.
'Fu*k it'.
---
Durmu Nurl had once painted alien friends as a youngster. Her wild dreams had finally faded along with childhood, but aliens had become real. In the past year she had specialised in what might be called psychiatry and emotional therapy. Satellians pride themselves on being well-balanced, but there are always exceptional circumstances. Today she was trying to help one of the victims of the first contact with the Lelinthians. Unlike most of his comrades, he had been returned in one piece. Whole except for his mind.
'So, Murrumue Ulunn, famous Gurunnamaruist. I read some of your work. You sure twitter on a bit.'
He remained completely motionless. His expression was strange... Kinda like he was annoyed at still being alive.
She had brought him up to the surface. Air, clouds, sun, plants (it was mid-summer on Hmmaiaa), anything that would take him away from the cramped confines of a spaceship, where perhaps his mind still dwelled. Although maybe the outdoors held just as many bad memories for him. A file had been compiled of his life, and it was studded with various tragic events. Anti-matter destruction of his home Kinship being just one of them. The alien encounter was probably just the final trigger for a long overdue shut-down. She was stumped, really. But the answer would come, she reassured herself. These days her dreams gave her more practical insights.
'Hmm... What are we going to do with you...'
