Alien and the Wedding Planner

Chapter One

Commander Storm wanted to start the first contact mission with the humans by stealing their clothing. Ice Silverkiller, the Minister of Science of the Imperial Crimea, instantaneously filled with dread, sensing an impending disaster in the making.

“I don’t think we should do that, Commander,” he gently rebuked him, shaking his head. His pale long hair rippled like silk. Storm might hold the highest authority in this ship but Ice was the leader of their expedition. He should have the final say. “It’s a bad idea.”

One of Storm’s thick brows arched, a skeptical look on his face. “How is it a bad idea?”

“I’m afraid it might bring unwanted attention to ourselves.”

“And you think we won’t with the attire we have now?” Storm asked pointedly. He waved at the garments that the ensign from logistics had brought to the ship’s bridge for inspection. Ice and Storm were supposed to wear those on the mission. The clothing itself was finely made. The problem was the style. It was outdated. Way too outdated. “We can’t blend in with the humans if we stand out.”

As much as Ice hated to admit it, Storm’s concern carried weight. But the thought of the hulking, menacing-looking Storm raiding an unsuspecting human’s laundry pile conjured unpleasant images in his mind. He could already see the humans traumatized by the experience. It wasn’t a great way to start a mission.

* * *

So far, their farthest intergalactic expedition in their history—to Earth—had been riddled with problems since conception. They hadn’t gathered enough data about the Earthlings when the emperor rushed the mission. Because Crimeans were enlightened that the closest species like them in the universe was human, the crew were sent to study the habit of human mating in hopes that they could implement the practice to their own people. The birthrate had flatlined in the last decade. If this continued, Crimea’s future was in jeopardy.

Unlike Crimea, the human population grew explosively despite famine, natural disasters, and wars over millennia. If this expedition could uncover the secret behind the human population, perhaps, it could save their home planet of Crimea.

Ice’s researchers at the Department of the Study of Humanology used powerful relay satellites that absorbed broadcasts from SETI and others for years, studying human languages and customs and even then, the scientists hadn’t gotten everything right. Like the garments Ice and the company were wearing. It turned out the Crimean humanologists had made a grave mistake. Somehow, they miscalculated the era of the clothes fashioned for Ice and company. They were a few centuries out of date. No present-day humans wore tight, fitted pants with ruffled neck shirts anymore.

Campania V—their mothership—was suspended above the earth’s atmosphere, heavily cloaked against earthling’s satellites and radars. Its active live scan showed them all kinds of broadcasts that didn’t reach their solar system—the Proxima Centauri Galaxy. The past seventy-two Crimean standard hours after the Campania stopped flying in superluminal speed had been a revelation for them.

Before, the branch science of humanology was treated more like an art than exact science. The Crimean scientists had to piece together information received through old broadcasts to learn about an alien species called human. Now that the Campania was able to freely tap a wealth of information through thousands of satellites in orbit, half of the hypotheses made by the scientists were debunked. Due to the overwhelming information Campania’s crew received, the scientists had to make hasty alterations to their plan. Like their initial plan to infiltrate and try to blend in among humans. Without appropriate garb, they were going to stand out. Even though the Crimeans shared ninety-nine percent of their genetic similarity with humans and possessed the same physical appearances, their unique trait of long, silvery, braided hair and ice-chip colored eyes didn’t seem to be shared by many humans within the reach of Campania imaging devices. They would probably appear to be foreigners no matter what they did. Therefore, having appropriate costumes were imperative to this first contact operation’s success.

“And how do you propose we conduct this grand theft of garb?” asked Ambassador Grim with a resigned tone. As a high-ranking member of the Tempest Court, he was the oldest officer in the Campania expedition crew. Ambassador Grim was famous across Crimea as someone with strict moral codes and high personal integrity. Naturally, he resented any underhanded scheme in the making.

“We pick an empty home and raid the wardrobe. Simple,” said Commander Storm in a nonchalant manner. “I did it many times in my misguided youth.”

Somehow, Ice wasn’t surprised.

Ambassador Grim didn’t look happy. “We cannot begin our mission by committing larceny, Commander, no matter how adventurous and colorful your adolescent time might have been. You have to consider my position as an ambassador to Earth. Think about our emperor’s honor if we get caught! We are the proud Crimea, the noble race of warriors and scholars, not thieves.”

“Your Venerable, I wasn’t planning on getting caught,” Captain Storm retorted.

“But you might.”

Captain Storm crossed his arms, looking irritated. “No. I won’t.”

“There’s a probability that you might.”

“Well, if you’d like to get specific, Your Venerable, the chance is within zero point zero zero zero zero one percent probability—”

“Please,” Ice intervened. “This problem will not be solved by arguments. Can we not just purchase the clothes legally? Besides, some humans like to dress up in costumes as an amusement. What were they called?” Ice asked Fern, one of his scientists who specialized in the study of Contemporary Human Behavior and Habitat.

“Cosplaying,” said Fern, eagerly, “It’s when humans clad themselves in costumes as their favorite characters from popular digital literature and act out their fantasies. This mimicking behavior is especially popular with the younger populations. They even hold contests among themselves to see who can copy the characters most flawlessly. It called Animecon.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Captain Storm with a pained expression. “Why would they copy fictitious characters? What is the merit in doing that?”

Ambassador Grim looked thoughtful. “Someone mentioned to me that humans liked to indulge in entertainment to excess and that it bred a whole generation of mental-stimulated addicts. These types of humans cannot forgo a moment without compulsion to connect into their worldwide virtual broadcast.”

“Is that so? Does this worldwide virtual broadcast help to inspire humans to procreate, though?” Storm sounded intrigued.

“Pardon me, I believe we were discussing how to procure human clothing to help us blend in during our first-contact mission,” Ice said impatiently. Left to their own devices, this meeting would certainly go nowhere.

“Oh, sorry. Do please go on,” said Ambassador Grim.

“We descend and assess the situation once we are on the ground. At the first chance we’re able to make clothing purchases, we’ll do so before we continue with our itinerary.” Ice waved at a box containing essential accessories to use during the first-contact mission. “My team has fashioned digital currency cards to make the purchases.” He picked up a stack of Visa cards. “And we also have gold coins in the event we need to barter.”

Ambassador Grim eyed the Visa cards critically. “Will these things work?” He sounded uncertain. Using plastic cards as digital currency hadn’t been practiced in Crimea in more than half a century. The obsolete banking technology was easily exploited by law-breakers. These days, all banking transactions were done by using people’s neural-terminals. Each Crimean was implanted with neuracomp in their cerebellum as soon as their birth or decanting. The neuracomp acted as a secondary inorganic processor that would assist that person’s everyday tasks: memorization, boosting language capability, learning new sets of skills to entertain, and banking.

“It will,” said Ice with confidence. “Hacking into the humans’ banking system was an easy and straightforward procedure. Our tech department created a phantom account that siphons dozens of financial institution sources and will allow us to fund our immediate purchases.”

“Isn’t that a different form of larceny?” Ambassador Grim asked pointedly.

“I’d prefer to call it ‘advance credits,’ Your Venerable. As soon as we establish a base camp on Earth, we will refund these advance credits with generous interest via the sale of precious metals,” said Ice. Gold, silver, and platinum had ceased being used as currency in Crimea when they discovered that one of their two moons was absurdly abundant with valuable ores. They established mines on the moon and soon those precious metals made their way to Crimea as common wares: tables, chairs, and most importantly, parts used in spaceships. The crew came prepared with precious gems, rare metals and exotic flora from non-carbon based life forms as currency for trading. When they found out that metals like gold and platinum were valuable, they gathered unused parts and melted them down into coin, to be used as currency.

“Well,” Ambassador Grim drew a long-suffering sigh, “It seems we cannot avoid some unsavory practices on our part in this early stage of our mission. I, with a heavy heart, have no choice but to comply with your decision, Minister Silverkiller.”

Ice winced inwardly to hear his name in English translation.

Thinking of the Commander as Storm, and of himself as Ice, hadn’t been easy. Those were the closest translations from their native language to English, which was the language typically spoken in the part of earth where they’d land. The Crimean linguists had fashioned a rapid-response translator device integrated directly into their BRI implant interface. So when the crew communicated with the natives, they spoke the language directly as if they’d mastered the language themselves. Thinking in a new language was the best way to really understand both it and the people who spoke it. So then he’d started thinking of himself as Ice, and the Commander as Storm, and the ambassador as Grim, and tried to incorporate this new language into his mental processes as much as possible.

Their mission to learn about human love rituals and mating habits in the hope that such knowledge could help solve the pressing social problems on Crimea depended on how flawlessly they could blend in with the general population. What better way to understand the concepts of love and courtship than to get a feel for their language?

Commander Storm, on the other hand, seemed to lack intellectual curiosity about this place and its people, and was hyper-focused on completing the mission. Ice guessed that was the difference between a scientist like himself and a military man.

Two Crimea Standard Hours after they wrapped up the meeting, an all-terrain cruiser was launched from the mothership into the earth’s atmosphere. The cruiser was piloted by Commander Storm. In this first contact mission, they had decided that only Storm and Ice would make the landing. Once Ice found a suitable place to set up an observation camp, the rest of the crew would follow. Besides studying humans, the scientists were also expected to collect samples of specimens of earth’s incredible arrays of floras and faunas.

The outer hull of the compact cruiser flamed with fire as it came in contact with Earth’s atmosphere, due its rapid velocity. Commander Storm slowed the speed of the cruiser as they descended further to Earth. The closer they plunged to the Earth’s surface, the more uncomfortably Ice felt the impact on his body. The gravity in Crimea was lighter than Earth. Heaviness and extreme fatigue cloyed in his muscles and flesh.

“Now is a good time to take your nanoenhancive serum,” said Commander Storm through the COMM link. “I notice your pulse is slightly irregular.” He tapped a small screen on his console where the biometric response of the passengers was carefully recorded. “First time descent can disrupt the body’s metabolism. This is true especially for civilians.”

Ice grabbed the survival pack and injected himself in the thigh. The serum worked instantly and made him feel normal again. “I didn’t see you take it,” he remarked at the pilot.

Commander Storm shrugged. “I’m a military man. I’ve been through countless descents.”