Communication

So, let’s take stock. What have we so far?

Well, we have one human miner, on a solo mission in the Asteroid belt. No special training beyond a Bachelor degree, and only a small spacecraft. Oh, and curiosity. Lots of that.

Which is why I didn’t run and hide when I discovered that this Asteroid was in fact a space station; no, I had to find an airlock and invite myself in, didn’t I?

I find air; thin, but perfectly breathable. Soon I have retracted my suit’s helmet and am breathing the atmosphere inside the asteroid.

I have been walking through long corridors for a short while when suddenly I notice – he’s there.

I behold something that I can somehow recognize as a living thing; yet something so alien that anything else is hard to determine.

He looks me in the eye . .

. . is it a he? Do human concepts of gender and grammar apply?

Cripes, I know nothing about this . . this . . being. I have to avoid thinking of it as an “it”.

I’ll call him a “he.” Doesn’t matter, anyway.

“He” looks me in the eye.

At least, I think that’s what he’s doing.

Those spots on stalks . . I think they’re eyes. They kind of look like human eyes to an extent. If human eyes were completely black and mounted on a tentacle. And he seems to be using them like eyes. So call them eyes for now.

Come to think of it, I don’t know what . . he . . means by looking into my eyes. I remember my guide warning me when I was in the Middle East that one girl was actually trying to proposition me when she looked into my eyes. For my part, I just meant to be open and honest.

Does he mean one of those? The proposition? Surely not, we’re too different . . aren’t we? But maybe he doesn’t interpret me as being honest with me. Maybe he sees it as a challenge. Or as a greeting. How can I know?

As he . . looks . . in my eye, I realize – one of us has to make some kind of a move. I guess it’s up to me.

I raise my hand. This is so clichéd. I can’t help feeling like I’m one of the humans etched onto the plaque on Pioneer 10. . . and I find myself laughing. Well duh! This is exactly what the plaque was for – communicating the existence of humanity to some species from another world!

It occurs to me to stifle my laughter. Surely this is inappropriate for a human making the first ever contact with an alien, even accidentally.

But that idea vanishes as quickly as it arose. Why fight the laughter? We don’t seem to be able to muster up enough mutual comprehension to even exchange greetings. If the alien could or would take offense to my giggles, we would have made a hell of a lot more progress than we have so far.

I wish I had that plaque. Carl Sagan thought an alien might understand it. I didn’t, much. But maybe my friend here might understand it. Maybe if I can get him back to my internet terminal –

– No , that’d be stupid. Even if I was sure that he wouldn’t find something in my ships’ lifesystem that was potentially fatal, what guarantee do I have that he would understand that better than he does now?

In point of fact, maybe he does understand me. Maybe he can’t communicate that understanding with me,

How would I know, come to think of it?

I speak.

“I come in peace!” I say.

The alien looks at me again.

“Peace” I repeat, this time feeling really stupid. Obviously, the Alien understands nothing I say. And why would he? I don’t know why I expected otherwise! Maybe I just watched too much science fiction on the TV.

From nowhere the Alien extends a . . tentacle? A pseudopod?

He raises the pseudopod above his . . . head. and for a moment he pauses.

Suddenly I realise what is happening.

I think he’s trying to mimic my ridiculous pose, such as he can!

I move my hand slowly, gradually towards him. Gradually, slowly, he moves closer to me.

We make a brief contact, his tentacle against my hand.

So getting back to what we have – well, we can at least add one more thing to the list of resources.

We have an alien and a human who BOTH possess imagination and curiosity.

Beyond that, who knows?