WRITING PROMPT: Humanity makes contact with an alien species. They ask us only one question: “We have not seen a starship leave this system for one of your many other colonies in 227,591 local years. Have you quarantined the system?”
The scientists verified the transcription once more. Captain Mapstone looked more concerned than when the text was initially shown. For the first time since the discovery of the galactic travelers she was fumbling for words.
“Could you ask them to clarify the statement? I… Could…” she trailed off, eyes fixed on the display.
“Yes, sir.” A technician returned the prompt back, simply asking, “Please clarify.” They waited for what seemed an eternity as the signal relayed. Text displayed, scientists ran the linguistics again, the captain’s brow furrowed again.
“Captain, their leader has offered only that our planet appears to have cut off communication millennia ago, repeating that same number. No ships, no signals for that span of time until around 140 years ago. Likely a reference to the first radio experiments in the 19th century.”
“Understood.” She looked at the rest of the team, each as perplexed as her. “Alright, folks. We’re in uncharted waters. I’m assuming this isn’t part of the manual we were provided?”
A bespectacled scientist stood from behind their computer, “No, sir. We… we don’t have guidelines for this potentiality.”
The moment hung, the cursor blinked on the communication monitor. “Well, shit.”
Bellowing from the back of the crowded command center, “I KNEW IT!”
A cacophony of spinning chairs as all the staff looked to see the source of the shout, though some were already collectively rolling their eyes in recognition. “I fucking KNEW it!”
Standing with his book in hand, Forgotten History of the Ancient Space Age, triumphantly held aloft. The thorn in the side of the scientific community. He walked, rather, he stomped forward to the captain’s station. “You all laughed, you all discredited, but when they arrived you called me anyway. Now I get the confirmation I needed after all these decades that I WAS RIGHT!”
The captain’s shoulders fell, a hand gripping her face and massaging her temples. “Of course. It had to be the ancient aliens thing. I should’ve known.”
Dr. Vladimir Plutonium, whose real name he refused to acknowledge, stepped up practically toe-to-toe with the statuesque captain. He all but whispered now, “I told you.”
“We have yet to confirm your theories Vlad, but-“
“That’s DOCTOR Vlad to you. May I now, finally, offer my suggestions?”
“Pending my approval, yes.” The captain stepped back to avoid the stench of the old man’s breath, waving a hand to the team as an offer to begin.
“Question number ONE!” With flamboyant gestures he slammed the book down, swung his leather messenger bag around his rotund body, and withdrew a weathered notebook. Bits of paper flew out like leaves falling from a tree as he flipped open to a tabbed page in his tome, revealing a scrawled list. “What was the last communication from our ‘colony’?”
The captain pondered for a moment, then nodded to the techs who typed the query into the console, the translation output, the linguists confirmed, and it was sent to the ship in orbit. While they waited, each face glued to the monitor, the captain leaned over to sneak a peek at the tattered book in Plutonium’s hand. He saw the motion, slamming it shut before she could make sense of the writing on the page. He glared over the rim of his glasses, shoved them back up his nose, and returned his gaze to the screen as the translation began.
“It says that they were opting out.” Confusion once again gripped the room. “Apparently just that, one immense broadcast to not be disturbed.” The linguist offered the nuance, but another tapped his shoulder, leaned in and whispered in his ear.
There was a kerfuffle amongst the group deciphering the text. The captain looked over to the lead scientist who shrugged and walked over to suss out what was happening. More text appeared on the screen.
“Sir, they’re sending over a recording of the last broadcast.”
The captain leaned onto the console, “Let’s hear it.”
Computers spun up, trying to interpret the content of the message being sent, rifling through digital file structures, applying advanced cryptographic techniques, trying to restore some semblance of understanding to the recording sent.
“Do I get to ask my next ques-“
“Not right now, doctor. Let’s get this figured out first, or do you not want answers to these questions?” The captain locked eyes with the stout scientist, just as the main screen displayed a play button. “Is it ready?”
The recording started, a distinctly human voice, but a completely alien language. The room fell silent, the recording played a second time. A message from beyond the known history of man. Each of the interpreters feverishly attempting to decode the language as the aliens offered the literal translation as a guide.
“Wait, I know this.” Offered Vlad, who was still frozen from the moment the recording first played. “I know THIS!” Russian gibberish spewed forth, he rifled through his bag for another stuffed notebook, again littering the floor around him with bits and pieces. A bold linguist shushed him, the slav flung back Slavic curses, then returned to flipping through the messy journal.
His face suddenly alight with joy, he lifted the notebook and pointed at the drawn glyphs on the page. A Polaroid fell from the spine as he shoved the sketches in the captain’s face. He buried his beaming face back in the drawings as the captain bent down to retrieve the photo. A dank looking cave wall, with the caption below: “New Zealand, 1997”. The same glyphs partially covered by moss, weathered by eons.
He looked up at main screen, demanded they play it again. His finger followed along with the glyphs he’d meticulously recreated on the page. “I can’t believe it. They really told the aliens to ‘fuck off’.”
The linguist team had stopped their commotion, waiting for the captain to pull her attention away from the photo and the exuberant scientist before her.
“He’s right, sir. That’s the crude way to interpret it, but effectively that’s what the recording says.” The lead scientist nodded to Plutonium, standing proud. “Literally: ‘We no longer wish to be in league with the federation as they seek to extract our resources and doom our planet, and all the life upon it, to death. To prevent further intervention, we have released a plague on our world to which all life native to this land is immune, but will be catastrophic to our overlords and their peons. Be warned, any attempt to interact with the natural inhabitants of this peaceful world will be interpreted as an act of war and will be met with disproportionate response. Leave Earth alone or suffer the consequences.’”
Inspiration Source: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1i2a58n/wp_humanity_makes_contact_with_an_alien_species/
Mike Lightheart 