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I’ve been watching the strange light for a few days now. I still don’t know what it is.
It’s not a star. Stars don’t steadily get brighter over time, at least not within one Eridan lifetime. Also, it only emits light at one frequency. That’s very odd. I only know of one thing out here in space that emits light with only one frequency, and that’s Astrophage, but this light is a different frequency than that, so it can’t be Astrophage.
Today, I check it again, just to make sure it’s still emitting light in only one frequency, like it’s been doing, and I notice something weird. It’s still emitting just one frequency, but the frequency has changed. The wavelength is getting longer. That’s really weird.
The frequency continues to change over the next few days. It occurs to me that at some point, the anomalous light may reach the Astrophage wavelength, and if I had noticed it for the first time when it was at that wavelength, I would have assumed it was Astrophage.
Wait a minute…what if it is Astrophage? The Astrophage arc emits a slightly different wavelength of light on the side close to the star than it does close to the planet. I don’t know why. What if the range of possible wavelengths for Astrophage light is greater than I realized?
Why would a large clump of Astrophage appear in space though?
Almost immediately, I think of an answer. It’s such an unexpected and unlikely answer that I try to think of other possible answers that are more likely, but 216 seconds later, I still haven’t thought of anything else.
What if my idea is right? What if there really is an Astrophage powered ship somewhere out there?
If there is another ship, it’s not from Erid. It’s coming from the wrong direction. That means aliens, which is why my instinct is still to categorize this possibility as unlikely.
But let’s entertain the possibility for a moment.
If it is a ship, the ship’s engines are probably pointed in my direction, which is why I can see them. That means they’re either coming towards me and slowing down, or getting farther away and speeding up. Because the light has gotten slightly brighter since I started watching it, it would have to be getting closer and slowing down.
It could be coming to this system.
I fold all my arms together under my carapace (if you can call it “under” my carapace in zero g). This is something I do whenever I think too much about the future, how I’m probably going to die out here alone, knowing Erid is already dead because I couldn’t save it, knowing that I spent my remaining life far from home and from Adrian for the sake of a foolish hope.
But this time I’m acting this way because of another thought, a very dangerous thought. It’s dangerous because, if I allow myself to think about it too much, I may begin to hope for something impossible, only to realize soon that it isn’t true.
Here is the thought. If there’s an alien ship, coming to this system, now, then it’s probably here for the same reason I’m here. All the stars except Tau Ceti are getting dimmer. I’ve been observing all the local stars during the long time since I arrived here, and more and more stars are staring to go dim, within an ever expanding radius. So maybe aliens from some other star that’s affected have done exactly what we did and sent a ship here, hoping to find out more.
And if aliens are coming here to find a solution, maybe they’ll be willing to help me, if I ask.
Like I said, it’s a dangerous thought. But in spite of myself, I’m already beginning to think about what to do, just in case. Just in case it’s true.
Because if I’m wrong, and it’s not aliens, then what’s the worst that could happen? The worst that could happen is that I’d die. But considering how useless I’ve been here, my death wouldn’t change Erid’s chances much, so it’s not that important. But if it is aliens, and there’s any chance they’ll be willing to help, then I have to make sure I do everything right.
Because I only have one chance. If I can’t contact the aliens, if they don’t want to talk to me, if I offend them, if they kill me or refuse to communicate, then all of Erid is doomed.
I have to ask them for help. I have to beg them for help. I have to give them everything I have to offer, which isn’t much, to be honest. I don’t even have an Astrophage sample. But maybe, just maybe, if I do this right, they’ll be willing to help.
And then maybe I can go home. And maybe I can see Adrian again. And maybe the world won’t end. And maybe Adrian and I can have kids, and raise them together. Maybe life can be beautiful again.
I float in the observation room, lost in thoughts of things that I haven’t had any hope for in a long time. After a while though, I pull myself together.
I have one chance to get this right. One chance. So it’s time to make a plan.
It’s a ship! I’ve matched its speed and acceleration as it approaches Tau Ceti. I tried to get their attention when I first matched with them, but they didn’t seem to notice I was there. I hope it’s because they’re waiting until they arrive to truly examine their surroundings, not because they’re actively ignoring me.
Now all I can do is wait for them to turn off their engines. I hope they don’t stop while I’m asleep.
I don’t think they will. There’s a narrow window of time, during which, if they stop, they’ll be in a roughly circular orbit around Tau Ceti, and that window doesn’t fall within my possible sleep times.
When they stop, I’ll park my ship between their ship and the Astrophage arc. Unless I’m wrong and they’re here for a completely different reason than I thought, that’s the first thing they’ll look at.
Of course, blocking their view of the Astrophage arc will be a risk. They might be angry that I’m getting in the way of their research. But it’s worth the risk to get them to notice me.
It’s occured to me that the aliens might start off wanting to talk to me because they think I’ve already made progress towards solving the problem, but when they find out how little I’ve done they’ll consider me a waste of time. Somehow, I have to convince them that I can still help them.
I don’t feel very smart after failing to solve the problem for so long. I’m only an engineer. I’m not a scientist. It’s hard to remember that I was chosen for the mission out of thousands of applicants, that I graduated first in a group of hundreds of engineering students. I used to be proud of myself. I used to feel useful and special. It was a long time ago, but maybe I can remember the part of myself that convinced Erid to choose me for the mission, at least enough to convince the aliens that I’m still valuable.
Of course, they have their own engineers, I’m sure, but there has to be something I can offer, right?
Their ship is strange. It was definitely made by aliens. All its sections are round. Why? And it’s so small.
I hope it’s small because the aliens are small and compact and don’t need much space, not because they’re unprepared. Although, if they are small, then they might not react well to a large, strange creature showing up. Maybe I’ll remind them of some of their predators.
I try not to worry about that. I can’t control how I appear to them physically.
I watch our speed continue to decrease relative to the star. In less than 216 seconds, we’ll enter the circular orbit window. If I were them, that’s the moment when I would stop.
I fidget nervously. This is it. I’m about to find out if they’re willing to talk to me.
247 seconds later, their ship suddenly stops accelerating. I scramble to stop my ship as well.
Now I have to approach them. I plan my trajectory. I’m so nervous. How close can I get without appearing aggressive? I agonize about that for another 432 seconds. Then I decide to stop three spans away from them. It’s close enough that they’ll definitely notice me, but it’s several times the length of their ship.
I fire up my engines and head in their direction. Halfway there, I thrust to slow down. At last, I stop the ship exactly where I intended to, three spans away from them.
Now, all I can do is wait. I really hope this works. I really hope my only hope isn’t in vain.