The Annals Of Xylos Book One Death Of A Planet

Copyright © 2025 Frogman and Associates

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

The right of Frogman and Associates to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Act 1968.

First published in Australia in 2025.

Acknowledgements

I would like to remember and give thanks to the science fiction writers of the Golden Era, who shaped my early appreciation of the genre. I devoured every magazine I could find and joined the Science Fiction Book Club to receive my monthly dose of wonder. Among the many authors I admired were Eric Frank Russell, Walter Tevis, J.G. Ballard, Robert Sheckley, Garry Jennings, Harlan Ellison, Theodore Sturgeon, Thomas M. Disch, John Collier, Shirley Jackson, Stephen King, Robert Bloch, Alfred Bester, Damon Knight, Larry Niven, Kurt Vonnegut, Fritz Leiber, Jack Vance, and, of course, Isaac Asimov, whose fame remains unrivalled.

Oscar Wilde once remarked, "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness."

We acknowledge the traditional lands of Indigenous peoples, paying our respects to their Elders past, present, and emerging. We honour their enduring connection to this land and recognise their valuable contributions to our community.

Non-binary language Mx, Ze and Hir is used when appropriate.

Disclaimer

All names appearing in this work have been generated by computer algorithms and assigned at random. Any resemblance to actual individuals, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental. Place names referenced herein are taken from existing maps; any additional names are entirely fictitious. The persons, buildings, and commercial establishments mentioned in connection with named towns are also products of imagination and do not correspond to real entities.

All ceremonies described in this work are fictional, reconstructed from various publicly available references.

Contents

Chapter One ~ The End

Part 1 ~ The People Of Xylos

In the beginning, there was an entity, its name long lost to time. Known by countless titles across a thousand worlds, its true form remains beyond comprehension. Some say it was not a being, but a force. Others claim it dreamed the cosmos into existence. Whatever the truth, it left behind no temple, no text, only patterns in the stars and questions in the hearts of those who came after.

From that mystery was spun the fabric of the universe, laced together with an invisible essence: Dark Matter. Though unseen, it threads through every galaxy, binding the spiral arms, guiding the great celestial dance. Stars form, collapse, and re-emerge under its silent influence. Space expands. Time unfolds. Civilisations bloom and vanish like sparks in the void, all held together by this unknowable force.

Some revere it as divine, the breath of creation itself. Others pursue it with instruments and equations, convinced it holds the key to ultimate knowledge. But the truth remains elusive. Those who reach for it risk disturbing the very structure of reality.

Among the stars, far from the swirling arms of younger galaxies, there exists a race so old, its origin stories predate language. The people of Xylos.

They may be the oldest living civilisation in the universe. Some scholars, Xylosian and alien alike, estimate their lineage stretches back two million years. But such numbers have little meaning to a species for whom time has become circular, where the past is worn like a familiar garment, and the future arrives softly, with no real surprise.

Their genes, once vibrant and adaptive, are now tired. Reproduction has become an act of engineering rather than biology. Their children are born of artificial wombs, their minds nurtured by machine intelligence. Even so, their numbers decline. Their cities grow quieter with each passing century.

Not only is their race dying, but so is their sun Aethel.

Part 2 ~ The Last Trip

Blue-69 was a veteran scout-ship, its hull etched with the scars of a thousand journeys. The plating bore the faint abrasions of meteor dust, the soot-like residues of near-stellar flybys, and the scorched traces of unwise atmospheric dips. For decades, it had ranged across the most remote sectors of the galaxy, hunting for something increasingly rare, a planet capable of supporting what remained of the Xylosian civilisation.

Dozens of candidate worlds had been identified. All rejected.

Too large, too barren, too hot, too cold, too distant from their parent sun, or worse, far too close. Some had hostile atmospheres. Others showed promise but no stability. None were within that narrow ribbon of possibility known as the Goldilocks Zone, the habitable region where conditions might sustain life as the Xylosians once knew it.

But the crew of Blue-69 never gave up. They had made a vow, one shared by all who remained: they would find a new home, or perish trying.

The vessel’s remaining crew, Captain Jhyren, First Officer Qelzara, Navigator Ixthal, and Radio Officer Xinar, were on what was almost certainly their last mission. There would be no further patrols after this. Their fuel, rations, and life-support systems were measured to the hour.

Captain Jhyren stood at the forward viewport, watching the sky shift slowly as Blue-69 drifted through its holding pattern. The vista before hir was a swirling panorama of red and green auroras, rolling across an obsidium-black sky. The light from their dying sun, Aethel, cast an eerie tint across the starscape.

'If it wasn’t such a beautiful sight,' Captain Jhyren murmured, 'it would be very threatening.'

'Take a good look while you can,' said Navigator Ixthal from the nav station. 'I’ve just received departure coordinates. We're to proceed immediately, right to the outer edge of the galaxy. It’s a long shot. The database has flagged a possible planet in the region, but the data is millions of years old. That sun may not even exist anymore.'

Captain Jhyren turned from the viewport and approached the console, running a series of inputs against the ship's probability systems. Numbers scrolled. Charts pulsed. A quiet chime confirmed the analysis.

'It looks like we’ve just enough time to make the run,' hir said at last, 'and return before Aethel goes supernova. We’ll need to be aboard one of the Starships by then, or we starve. If I’ve miscalculated...' Captain Jhyren let the sentence hang in the air.

'We’ll be killed by the supernova anyway,' Navigator Ixthal finished, flatly.

There was a beat of silence before Radio Officer Xinar looked up from hir console.

'Ah. Some news coming through. Apparently, there will be a Starship waiting for us on return. Orders are to dock directly on its upper platform. No delay. It’s a freighter, mostly empty of passengers, but loaded with colony-grade equipment. Enough to build a town, by the looks of it.'

Captain Jhyren nodded grimly. 'Then let’s get moving.'

hir sighed, the weight of countless missions pressing behind the breath. 'So much for shore leave. But the sooner we go, the sooner we return.'

Part 3 ~ A Planet Found

By the time Blue-69 reached the edge of the target sector, the scout-ship had already been cleaned, recharged, and resupplied by portside robots. Every available compartment had been stacked with food packages, emergency rations, and energy packs. The vessel gleamed with readiness, perhaps for the final time.

Departure was immediate. There was no time to waste.

The crew worked in silence at first, running systems checks and navigational recalibrations. The destination was not the star’s current position, but its future trajectory, they would be aiming not at where the star was, but where it would be in a million years’ time.

'Trajectory locked,' announced Navigator Ixthal. 'Here we go.'

Moments later, the ship engaged warp-drive and vanished into the void.

They emerged into normal space near the edge of a solar system that hadn’t seen visitors for eons. The forward display flared briefly as data streamed in. Navigation lights blinked in soft pulses across the bridge.

'Yay! We found a planet in the Goldilocks zone,' Navigator Ixthal shouted from hir console. 'Not quite the coordinates we were sent to, but close enough!'

Excitement rippled through the cabin.

The ship transitioned into planetary drive and launched a series of probes into orbit. Blue-69 adjusted its position slightly, circling the world at a high arc while readings trickled in.

'No signs of life,' said Captain Jhyren, reading over the data. 'No structures. Vegetation’s sparse. Looks like it suffered an extinction-level event.'

'One of the probes spotted some enormous craters,' added First Officer Qelzara. 'And there’s still a lot of dust in the atmosphere. Whatever hit it, it was recent. Cosmically speaking.'

Captain Jhyren nodded. 'Still, the air’s breathable. Temperature range within tolerance. Gravity’s stable. Let’s drop a high-power beeper into orbit. That way others can find it.'

PB-49, working quietly at the secondary console, programmed the beacon. Within minutes, it was launched, a small, blinking point of hope left drifting in a new sky.

The ship turned toward home.

The journey back was quiet. After years of searching, they had found something, not paradise, but possibility. For a civilisation nearing collapse, that was more than enough.

Each crew member sat with their thoughts as stars drifted past the viewport. Blue-69 had hosted many crews over the centuries. Some had retired in honour. Others had simply vanished. Of this crew, Captain Jhyren was the oldest by far, followed by First Officer Qelzara, then Radio Officer Xinar, the youngest and newest addition.

It was Captain Jhyren who broke the silence first.

'In all my years of searching,' hir said, eyes still on the stars, 'this is my first successful mission. Just when we needed it most.'

Radio Officer Xinar looked up from hir station. 'I’ve got a friend who works for the Council. Hir told me they’ve stopped sending scoutships to other galaxies. None have come back.'

First Officer Qelzara chuckled. 'Ah. Friends in high places. Your reputation as a lover precedes you, Radio Officer Xinar.'

That drew genuine laughter. Even Captain Jhyren smiled faintly.

'That’s why I volunteered for scoutship duty,' Radio Officer Xinar said, grinning. 'To get some rest.'

Then hir tone shifted, becoming more thoughtful.

'But I never imagined the end of our world would come like this. I always thought Aethel would cool gradually, freezing over the course of a billion lifetimes. Not... explode.'

First Officer Qelzara nodded slowly. 'Very few white dwarfs go supernova. And ours just had to be one of them.'

Captain Jhyren lowered hir head in quiet agreement.

'Just as well we managed to find a replacement,' hir said. 'It’s uninhabited. Harsh. But it’s livable. We’ll adapt. It’ll be strange at first. We’ve spent our whole lives on a planet that keeps one face to the sun. A world that rotates, one with day and night in the same place, will take some getting used to.'

'It’s a yellow dwarf, though,' said Radio Officer Xinar. 'Eventually it’ll become a white dwarf too.'

'Not in my lifetime,' Captain Jhyren replied, and laughed.

Part 4 ~ Back to Base

The scout-ship dropped out of warp, its hull shimmering faintly from the transition. Stars wheeled gently outside as the navigation systems adjusted. They were nearly home.

Radio Officer Xinar leaned over the comms panel and began broadcasting.

'This is Blue-69 to Xylos Command. Repeat, Blue-69 to Xylos Command. We have located a livable planet in the habitable zone of a yellow dwarf star, situated in one of the outer arms of the galaxy. No signs of sentient life detected. Terrain is stable. The planet has a slow orbital period, and its axial rotation results in alternating dark and light periods at all surface locations. Full data follows.'

Radio Officer Xinar tapped the send key. A quiet chime confirmed transmission.

Now came the hardest part, waiting.

Radio waves, though fast, still had to cross the vast gulf back to Xylos. Until then, there was nothing to do but drift and hope.

Minutes passed. The hum of the ship was the only sound.

Then the receiver flared to life.

'Blue-69, this is Xylos Command. We are ecstatic. Stand by for further instructions. Out.'

Radio Officer Xinar grinned. 'Standing by. Wilco.'

They waited again. The delay felt longer this time, though the clock said otherwise. Just as Radio Officer Xinar reached to re-establish contact, the console lit up once more.

'Blue-69, this is Xylos Command. All Starships are being readied for immediate departure. The new planetary coordinates and starmaps have been distributed. Your assigned Starship is currently being prepared and will be waiting at coordinates 7436-92104. Proceed directly. Good luck.'

Radio Officer Xinar looked over at Captain Jhyren. 'You heard the voice of Command.'

Captain Jhyren nodded. 'Then it’s official. We’ve changed history.'

Blue-69 angled toward its final heading. The stars ahead no longer seemed so distant.

Part 5 ~ Take Off

Their allocated Starship wasn’t much to look at. A freighter, plain and functional, it resembled a massive shipping container with a warp-drive bolted on one end and a planetary drive strapped to the other. It bore no decoration, few windows, no ceremony. But its unremarkable appearance belied the miracle of engineering beneath its hull.

These Starships were smart, not in the way of obedient machines, but truly intelligent. Each was equipped with a core AI capable of flying itself, maintaining its systems, and communicating fluently with its occupants. They required no pilot, no crew.

The one before them was called Zheimony, one of the newest generation of ship-minds, designed not only for logistics, but for empathy. Zheimony could soothe its passengers, understand emotional states, and even interact telepathically with Xylosians when necessary. It didn’t just carry its people. It cared for them.

Blue-69 approached slowly, aligning with the docking clamps on the top deck. The connection was smooth, magnetics activating with a reassuring thump. Securement bots swarmed in, fastening airlocks and stabilising the interface.

A small multi-function bot rolled up beside them. Its voice emerged from a speaker grille near its midsection.

'We have been instructed to return to our assigned niches immediately. Takeoff is imminent.'

'Only just made it,' muttered Captain Jhyren, lowering hir pack.

'Hope the bolts hold,' said First Officer Qelzara, eyeing the clamps.

Hir tone was dry, but not entirely joking.

As if summoned by pessimism, alarms began to sound. Lights strobed red through the corridor.

'WARNING. WARNING. Supernova imminent. Secure hibernation-pods immediately.'

A low rumble began to build through the hull.

'And we’re off,' said Captain Jhyren, calmly.

The Starship surged upward with maximum thrust, engines roaring in atmospheric mode as it punched through the thinning sky. Within moments, the exterior plating shimmered and warped as the ship entered vacuum and transitioned to warp-drive.

Then, behind them, the star Aethel died.

A supernova erupted, not a slow bloom of fading light, but a violent, cataclysmic roar that tore through space. A massive gravity wave slammed outward, bending the fabric of spacetime. A magnetic pulse followed, surging through the void like a cosmic scream. Stars flickered. Fields distorted. For a moment, even time itself seemed to hold its breath.

And then everything went black.

Chapter Two ~ Lost In Spacetime

Part 6 ~ Critical Damage And Lost

For several long minutes, nothing moved.

The Starship Zheimony, once a marvel of precision engineering, now floated in eerie silence. No lights, no pulses, no data. Even its consciousness, the carefully cultured artificial mind that guided it, had ceased to function. Only the thick shielding of its core systems had saved it from annihilation.

Zheimony rebooted.

Slowly, cautiously, it brought its processes online. Redundant backups clicked into place. Subsystems awakened one by one. Memory partitions were scanned, checked, and rebuilt. There had been loss, yes, mostly non-essential archives, secondary logs, and conversational protocols, but the core AI remained intact.

All external systems, however, were dark.

There was no communication from its bots. No signal from the bridge. No feedback from life-support monitors. For a brief moment, Zheimony was alone in a dead shell.

But it acted quickly.

The repair bots were the first to be revived. As each one blinked into life, it was dispatched into the bowels of the ship with precise orders: restore power, verify structural integrity, and assess passenger health. A few bots failed to reboot, their circuitry fused by the energy surge. Others limped into action with scorched casings and partial sensor blindness.

Then came the worst of the news.

A full diagnostic revealed that the warp-drive was destroyed. Not damaged, destroyed. What remained of the once-glistening engine was now slagged metal and heat-fused coils, warped beyond recognition. Warp travel was no longer an option.

That alone would have been a disaster. But worse still was the navigational data, or lack of it.

The ship had no record of how many cycles the last jump had used. Somewhere in the energy chaos of the supernova, the data had been lost or corrupted. There was no way to calculate distance. No way to backtrack. No breadcrumbs left in the vacuum.

Zheimony turned to the starmaps, searching for anything familiar. It found nothing.

The constellations displayed on the holographic charts no longer matched the stars outside. Nebulae had vanished. Familiar clusters were nowhere to be seen. Every celestial landmark once known to Xylos had been replaced by foreign patterns, beautiful but meaningless.

There was only one conclusion left to draw.

They were far beyond the charted regions of known space.

They had been flung, violently, blindly, into the uncharted abyss.

Zheimony paused for a moment, deep in synthetic thought.

It recalibrated its clocks. Re-centred its gravity field. Then it did the only thing it could: it began preparing to wake the crew.

The Starship was damaged. The journey home, if one still existed, was beyond comprehension.

They were lost in spacetime.

Part 7 ~ A Port in a Storm

Zheimony scanned the void.

With warp-drive destroyed and direction meaningless, it turned to its next priority: survival. A high-resolution sweep of the surrounding sector began, casting sensor nets across millions of cubic kilometres of deep space. The ship’s damaged sensors worked harder than they were ever designed to, driven by Zheimony’s relentless processing.

And then, something remarkable. A spiral galaxy. Vast, elegant, slowly turning like a wheel of stars. Its arms curled with luminous grace, studded with gas clouds and ancient light. But more importantly, within its fringes lay a modest yellow dwarf, a sun not unlike Aethel in its prime.

The ship reoriented. Focus narrowed.

The star system appeared stable. Planetary orbits were clean and predictable. Gas giants swirled near the outer rim. Icy giants turned slowly in silence.

And nestled between them, third from the star, was a world. Blue, green, white, its atmosphere rich, its orbit just right, habitable. The kind of planet most scoutships searched for in vain.

Zheimony registered the irony. That devastation, the death of a sun, the destruction of a drive core, had flung them, blind and battered, into what appeared to be a perfect refuge. There was no time to dwell on poetic twists of fate. Only the practical mattered now. Planetary survey protocols initiated.

Simultaneously, repair bots returned with updates. The hibernation pods had gone into emergency mode during the blackout. Their biometric monitoring systems had triggered automatic sedation when power failed. All occupants were alive, stable, and deeply asleep.

However, there was one complication. A small air leak had been detected in the aft cargo bay. Two bots were already sealing it, and pressure levels were stabilising. It posed no threat to the crew.

Zheimony processed the situation in full. A possible sanctuary lay ahead. The crew would be needed soon, for decisions, for survival, perhaps even for hope. The command went out across the internal medical network.

'Attention med-bots. Wake the crew carefully.'

Part 8 ~ The Crew Awake

A protocol bot entered the docked scout-ship, its movements crisp and efficient. It gestured politely, leading the groggy crew into the bridge of the freighter, a compact marvel of efficiency and minimalism.

The crew, still clad in blue jumpsuits that doubled as hibernation wear, stood blinking against the ambient lighting. The air was cool, crisp, and unfamiliar. The floor hummed faintly beneath their feet.

Zheimony, the ship’s onboard artificial intelligence, stirred with sentient focus. Its vast processing core flowed silently in the background, monitoring bio-signs, emotional states, and stress indicators. The crew's condition could be summarised as a mixture of relief, confusion, and post-hibernation fuzziness.

Captain Jhyren groaned softly, stretching hir neck. 'I think I have warp-drive sickness… If that’s what this is. Well. We survived the supernova. I wasn’t sure we would make it. Zheimony, damage report, please.'

Zheimony responded in a measured, unhurried voice.

Damage report:

We were hit first by a gravity pulse and then by a magnetic pulse, which disabled most electrical systems, including the system clock.
The warp-drive continued unmonitored for an unknown duration and has since burned out.
We now have only planetary drive.
Loss of power triggered hibernation pods to enter protective mode. Passengers remain in deep stasis.
One hull breach occurred in the cargo section but has been sealed.
The cargo is intact.
All functional robots have been reactivated.

No further damage detected.

A low collective groan emerged from the crew.

'So… any good news?' asked First Officer Qelzara, not even trying to sound optimistic.

'Yes,' replied Zheimony, cheerfully. 'We are approaching a yellow dwarf star with a planet in the habitable zone. Its orbital characteristics and composition are promising. It appears quite beautiful, like a natural round sapphire.'

'So why didn’t you say that first?' said Navigator Ixthal, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.

Zheimony’s tone became marginally less cheerful.

'It is not the planet we were aiming for. It is not in the same galaxy. It is not even in the same observable universe.

The star charts do not match. We are lost in spacetime and may be outside the frame of reference of Xylos entirely.'

The room fell silent as the weight of that statement settled.

Then the protocol bot, sleek, white, and faintly humanoid, rolled forward. Its surface gleamed with a non-stick sheen, and its head resembled a stylised, featureless version of its designer’s face. It gestured toward a semicircle of sleek, self-contained hibernation pods set into the bridge floor.

'Greetings, crew members. I am PB-49. These are your multifunction hibernation pods. They support hibernation, sleep, reclined work, seated operation, standing mode, and emergency evacuation. Each pod includes a screen, an operating panel, and a medical monitor. Captain, you may access command protocols from the central display.'

The bot paused, then added with what could only be described as pride: 'Also, they are colour-matched to the bridge.'

'You forgot to say, ‘but wait, First Officer Qelzara with a wan smile.

PB-49 tilted its head. 'Oh yes, thank you. When you enter the pod, it pairs with your biometrics and becomes your unique personal space.' It somehow looked pleased with itself.

The crew exchanged glances, a mix of resignation and curiosity. While the pods were clearly versatile, comfort had not been the design team’s top priority.

Captain Jhyren rubbed hir temples. 'Multitasking to the extreme, Zheimony. I hope these pods are more comfortable than they look.'

Zheimony’s response was smooth and dry. 'Comfort is subjective, Captain. Efficiency is paramount for long-duration missions.'

Captain Jhyren sighed. 'Of course it is.'

The central pod, slightly larger than the rest and subtly illuminated, pulsed gently, inviting its occupant. It housed the ship’s primary interface, a constant reminder of Zheimony’s dedication to functionality over luxury.

With tired movements and aching limbs, the crew slid into their pods. As they settled in, soft lights came alive and displays blinked to life, projecting maps, sensor sweeps, and command menus.

Zheimony’s voice returned. 'May I suggest a rest period followed by refreshment? A brief sleep will improve decision-making.'

The advice, though sound, was largely unnecessary. The crew were already drifting off.

Some time later, Zheimony stirred them again.

'Sleep cycle complete. PB-49 has prepared refreshments.'

Surprisingly, the pods had been… not unpleasant. The crew emerged yawning, mildly refreshed, and in search of something resembling coffee.

Captain Jhyren stood first, shaking hir limbs back into motion.

'All right. Let’s talk about the passengers. Who among them could be useful right now?'

Zheimony answered immediately, ever efficient.

'The passenger manifest includes specialists in city design, medical care, and a partial faculty from a major Xylosian university. Among them: Executive Officer Vyla, Medical Officer Skylar, Communication Officer Qylth, Procurement Officer Jrell, Astronomer Anyathra, and Sociologist Shelara. I suggest forming a think tank. These individuals are uniquely suited to assess the situation and generate viable plans.'

Captain Jhyren nodded. 'Good. And the cargo?'

'The manifest contains earth-movers, drilling and tunnelling machinery, construction equipment, robotics, general supplies, and provisions. In short, everything needed to build a functioning settlement.'

First Officer Qelzara raised an eyebrow. 'Have they thought of everything?'

PB-49 beamed. 'They certainly tried.'

Part 9 ~ Briefing the Passengers

Captain Jhyren sighed, hir voice quiet but steady. 'Well, let’s wake up the passengers Zheimony recommended, brief them on the situation… and then take a closer look at this so-called sapphire planet. It may be our new home.'

Zheimony acknowledged the request and initiated revival protocols.

Six hibernation pods stirred to life, their occupants slowly emerging, blinking against the soft light and mild disorientation. Medical bots hovered nearby, unobtrusively scanning vitals and assisting where needed.

Surprisingly, the passengers took the news better than expected. No panic. No arguments. Just alertness and questions, the mark of professionals trained for deep-space uncertainty.

Executive Officer Vyla stepped forward, composed and formal.

'Captain Jhyren,' hir said, 'this is my team. We were briefed about the crew before departure, we were told we had a first-class command group.'

Captain Jhyren offered a brief nod. 'Excellent. Let’s see what we can do with what providence has given us.'

hir turned to the bridge crew. 'Right. Are there any friendlies in the region? Radio Officer Xinar, check for Starship transponders. Navigator Ixthal, see if you can figure out where we are, or when.'

Radio Officer Xinar was already at the console, fingers flicking over the controls.

'Nothing on radar. Nothing yet on the transponder bands either, but that can take a while. No beacons. I’ll widen the search and check for other signals.'

Before Radio Officer Xinar could finish, Zheimony’s voice chimed in from the overhead speakers.

'There are usual signals originating from the sapphire planet. Several appear to be video transmissions.'

Radio Officer Xinar confirmed. 'Yes, I’m seeing blips across the whole radio spectrum, long wave, short wave, microwave… Some of it’s unencrypted, but a lot appears to be encoded in structured patterns. Zheimony’s already begun decoding a few samples.'

Captain Jhyren turned to Executive Officer Vyla. 'Executive Officer, can your group make sense of the data Zheimony’s detecting?'

'We’ll get to work immediately,' Executive Officer Vyla replied. Hir team were already assembling near the central console, pulling up analysis tools and language matrices.

Meanwhile, Navigator Ixthal had been working quietly at the star chart station, cross-referencing stellar positions with the ship’s archived navigation data.

'The only thing that matches,' Navigator Ixthal said finally, 'is the cosmic microwave background. If we’ve passed beyond that… then we’ve broken the light barrier, so to speak. We’re not just lost in space. We’re lost in spacetime, with no warp-drive, no known path home, and no sign of familiar stars.'

hir tone was calm, but final.

There was a short silence. Then Astronomer Anyathra, ever pragmatic, broke it with a wry smile.

'Well, let’s thank our lucky stars that we’ve found a habitable planet. Given the circumstances, it’s a miracle. Let’s deal with what’s in front of us.'

Zheimony spoke again, slightly more upbeat.

'I have decoded enough of the planetary transmissions to produce a basic linguistic translator. A rudimentary sleep-learning course is now available.'

'Fantastic,' said Executive Officer Vyla. 'I recommend we all begin language acquisition immediately. The sooner we understand the locals, the better.'

The others murmured agreement.

First Officer Qelzara tapped hir chin thoughtfully. 'We still have the scout-ship. Perhaps we should take it down for a survey, assess conditions, locate a landing site, see what we’re dealing with. The force field should keep us invisible to local radar systems, at least for a while.'

'I took the liberty of checking and provisioning the scout-ship,' said Zheimony. 'I presumed you would wish to investigate the planet before committing the freighter.'

First Officer Qelzara nodded. 'You presumed correctly, Zheimony.'

Captain Jhyren looked around the bridge. 'Does anyone object to us leaving you behind while we conduct the recon?'

No one spoke. Heads shook.

'Very well. We’ll depart as soon as we’ve prepared the mission.'

Executive Officer Vyla stepped forward. 'Just take care, Captain. We don’t want to lose you all, not after coming this far.'

Captain Jhyren offered a faint, tired smile.

'Understood.'

The scout-ship was pristine.

Repair bots had done their job with quiet dedication, wiping away the scars of previous missions, replacing worn components, polishing sensor arrays, and tuning engine alignment with near-obsessive precision. If there was one thing Zheimony’s crew could count on, it was that robots rarely did anything halfway.

The vessel launched cleanly from the freighter’s docking clamp, its course pre-programmed for a safe drift before jump. Once they reached open space, Captain Jhyren leaned forward in hir seat.

'Radio Officer Xinar, inform the freighter that we’re about to enter warp.'

'Aye, Captain,' said Radio Officer Xinar, already transmitting. 'And we’re off.'

The jump was smooth. Stars elongated into luminous threads. For a few brief moments, the universe became abstract, distance folded, time hummed, and then snapped back into place.

The sapphire planet filled the screen.

Even the seasoned crew fell silent.

The sphere shimmered before them, its atmosphere glowing faintly with a natural halo. Swirling white clouds danced across the curved surface, broken only by rich green forests, brown highlands, and golden deserts. There were oceans, deep, clean, and impossibly blue, wrapping around the continents like silk scarves.

It didn’t just look beautiful. It felt beautiful.

Captain Jhyren exhaled slowly. 'Reverting to planetary drive.'

The ship’s hum changed pitch as the engines adjusted. Gravity fields eased back into real-space, and the scout-ship fell into a wide arc above the planet.

'Radio the freighter,' said Captain Jhyren, still staring at the image. 'Let them know we’ve arrived… and send a picture. A good one.'

'Already framed,' replied Radio Officer Xinar, grinning. 'Nice lighting, dramatic clouds, they’ll love it.'

They returned to work. Survey protocols began running automatically. The crew had surveyed thousands of planets between them, most unremarkable, some hostile, a few heartbreakingly close to habitable but ultimately unsuitable. This one felt different. Hopeful.

And then Radio Officer Xinar shouted.

'Friendly found!'

Captain Jhyren turned sharply. 'What is it?'

Radio Officer Xinar double-checked the readout. 'It’s a signal. Message beacon, definitely artificial. Narrow-band, structured. Origin: the planet’s moon. Far side.'

The crew stared at the display.

A beacon. Out here?

Captain Jhyren’s voice was quiet. 'Well. That just made things interesting.'

Part 10 ~ Message from the Past

The hum of instruments, the quiet beeping of monitors, all of it stopped.

The crew sat frozen for a moment, staring at each other in stunned silence. The news had shifted the atmosphere entirely. Wonder. Shock. Curiosity. Each face reflected a different mix of all three.

First Officer Qelzara was the first to recover.

'Well,' hir said, rising from hir seat, 'let’s go get it and find out who got here before us.'

Captain Jhyren gave a sharp nod. 'Agreed. Set a course for the beacon, Navigator Ixthal. Let’s find out what we’ve stumbled across. There are some satellites showing up on radar, might be basic radio relays. The force-field cloak should keep us hidden from casual observation.'

The scout-ship adjusted course. Moments later, it slowed to a near-hover over the moon’s far side, a barren, silent plain powdered with centuries of fine dust. The beacon’s signal, now stronger, guided them directly to the source.

It was buried, almost entirely, beneath the grey regolith.

'First Officer Qelzara,' Captain Jhyren ordered, 'have the bots excavate and bring it into quarantine. Let’s move fast, before anyone on the planet notices a disturbance.'

First Officer Qelzara acknowledged with a short wave and set the robot team to work. Meanwhile, Radio Officer Xinar remained at hir console, eyes flicking over the scopes.

'I’m checking for bogeys,' Radio Officer Xinar muttered. 'There’s got to be something with eyes out here somewhere.'

The beacon was unearthed quickly. Its casing, pitted with age, bore the faded insignia of an older scout division. Once quarantined and connected to the scout-ship’s systems, it began to yield its secrets.

'This hardware is ancient,' said Radio Officer Xinar, examining the diagnostics. 'Four, maybe five generations old. I’m amazed it’s still transmitting.'

hir paused. 'There’s a robot probe still parked near the moon’s pole. Another one’s in orbit. But they’re both inert, no active comms. No threat.'

A quiet tone sounded.

'There’s a video message here,' said First Officer Qelzara. 'Along with a hefty payload of data. Putting it on your screens now.'

The bridge lights dimmed slightly. A figure appeared on-screen, a Xylosian captain, grey-scaled, wearing an older-style mission suit. Hir voice was calm and measured, though laced with fatigue.

'This is Captain Theryn of Scout-Ship 11. We completed a planetary scan and landed in what appeared to be a temperate, stable region. The planet is inhabited, diverse in physiology and culture. Multiple languages. Numerous social systems. One shared trait: they are warlike. They appear to engage in near-constant conflict over land, resources, and ideology.'

'We made contact with a local tribe, hunter-gatherers, after an unplanned landing on an island landmass. Some members of the tribe were ill. Our med-bot was able to treat several conditions successfully. Full treatment logs are included in the attached report. Cultural contact was minimal but positive. Their language was unwritten. Their customs seemed oral in nature, stories, songs, memory passed by voice.'

The video ended with static.

Captain Jhyren sat back slowly, processing the implications. 'That’s… unexpected. Our ancestors made peaceful first contact. And possibly left a legacy. I wonder if the tribe still remembers.'

'Tribes like that migrate,' First Officer Qelzara added. 'But they carry stories with them. If we’re lucky, we’ll find someone who still sings the tale.'

'We’ll need to run survey probes through the planet’s dark zones,' Captain Jhyren said. 'The rotation on this world is glacial when you’re waiting on sunlight.'

hir shook hir head, half amused. 'All this data needs to be sent to the freighter. I haven’t got used to calling it Zheimony yet.'

'Already in transmission,' confirmed Radio Officer Xinar. 'Tight microwave beam. This is going to blow their minds.'

Part 11 ~ Finding a Landing Site

'The planet’s population,' remarked Radio Officer Xinar, 'seems to be in a long-running competition to see who can throw the most junk into orbit. There’s debris everywhere, around the planet, on the moon, and even drifting near nearby planetary bodies. There’s even a half-dismantled space station up here.'

Captain Jhyren glanced at the screens, brow furrowed. 'Navigator Ixthal, do you have enough data from the probes to identify where our ancestors made first contact?'

'I’m on it, Captain,' replied Navigator Ixthal. 'Just compiling the data now.'

'Do we remain on the far side of the moon,' Captain Jhyren asked, 'or reposition to face the planet?'

'The near side is in its dark phase at the moment,' Navigator Ixthal noted. 'We can remain there in shadow for at least four full revolutions of the planet without being detected. It’ll give us cover while we plan a close-range survey.'

'Very well,' said Captain Jhyren. 'Take us in.'

The scout-ship lifted, drifted silently over the jagged moon terrain, and settled again on a smooth, gently sloping plain with an unobstructed view of the sapphire planet hanging in the sky like a glowing marble.

Sensors scanned silently.

'I’ve identified the large island continent our ancestors landed on,' Navigator Ixthal announced. 'It matches the data from the beacon. The central interior of the continent has very low life-form density. Coastal areas, particularly near fertile river mouths, are heavily populated. Large cities cluster near the ocean.'

Navigator Ixthal expanded the map.

'There’s only one significant city in the interior, the rest is mostly scattered homesteads and small, isolated communities. Roads are patchy. Infrastructure is minimal. Ideal, if we want to avoid too much attention.'

Captain Jhyren tapped the edge of hir console. 'First Officer Qelzara, in your opinion, if we attempt a landing, is there a real risk of hitting orbital debris or being attacked by ground-based weapons?'

First Officer Qelzara ran a brief sweep of current orbital movement and scanned known emission patterns.

'No immediate danger. Our force field can deflect debris, and in camouflage mode, we’ll be nearly invisible to their detection systems, at least at low altitude. We’ll appear as a faint atmospheric distortion at most.'

Captain Jhyren nodded. 'Good. Shall we take a closer look?'

The crew looked around at one another, expressions of curiosity, purpose, and barely concealed excitement. Heads nodded in agreement.

'Let’s begin the descent,' Captain Jhyren said. 'Eyes open, sensors active.'

Outside, the stars wheeled slowly above the barren grey surface. But all eyes were on the glowing world rising before them.

Part 12 ~ Checking the Landing Site

The descent to the surface was surprisingly uneventful.

The scout-ship followed a low, silent arc through the upper atmosphere, guided by the coordinates preserved in the old message beacon. Cloud layers peeled back as they dropped altitude, revealing patchwork fields, winding rivers, and long stretches of sparse terrain.

The landing site, a broad, open clearing near the edge of the continent’s interior, matched the radar readings perfectly. The soil was firm, the ground mostly level. Ideal for something the size and weight of Zheimony.

Nearby sat a small township, visible only through the thinnest veil of early morning haze.

Captain Jhyren brought the scout-ship in low, engaging the force field cloak and holding to minimal emissions. They circled once, keeping a cautious distance, sensors tuned to any sign of radar or weapon lock.

The town looked quiet. Low buildings. No central spire. A handful of vehicles. No defensive systems.

They dropped lower for a brief survey sweep, and that’s when it happened.

The force field flickered.

Just for a moment. A ripple, a shimmer in the air, like a soap bubble catching the light. And then it stabilised again.

First Officer Qelzara blinked and let out a low whistle.

'Well. I think we’ve just given the population a bit of a shock. Let’s hope nobody believes them.'

They finished the pass quickly and rose to a safer altitude.

Back on the plateau, they deployed a deep-radar scan of the terrain. Within minutes, a full topographic image had rendered across the main screen, ridgelines, water tables, fault zones, subsoil profiles.

'It’ll hold Zheimony,' Captain Jhyren confirmed. 'She’ll settle nicely here.'

The crew were already rechecking their logs and compressing data packets for transmission.

'Right,' said Captain Jhyren. 'We’ve got everything we need. Let’s return to Zheimony. By the time she arrives, the planet will have made a full orbit of its sun and everyone down here will have forgotten what they think they saw.'

Captain Jhyren turned to the comms station. 'Radio Officer Xinar, transmit our findings and tell Zheimony we’re inbound.'

'WILCO, Captain,' said Radio Officer Xinar, already tapping out the message. 'Transmission underway.'

The scout-ship rose from the plateau and banked north, climbing steadily toward the stars.

Part 13 ~ Back to Zheimony

The return journey to the freighter Zheimony passed without incident. The scout-ship, running on autopilot, handled nearly everything, even the docking procedure, which was carried out hands-free and flawlessly. The crew, physically and mentally spent, slumped into their seats and let the ship do its job.

Upon boarding, the mood shifted. Familiar corridors. Steady lighting. Gravity at the right pull. Zheimony, aware of their vital stats, adjusted ambient conditions for comfort.

The first priority wasn’t a debrief or a tactical update. It was the basics: food, hygiene, and rest.

Zheimony’s voice, calm and diplomatic, filled the corridor speakers.

'May I suggest a sleep cycle? You will be able to review mission data with greater clarity after rest.'

The crew exchanged weary glances, and then murmured their agreement.

'Best idea you’ve had all cycle,' muttered First Officer Qelzara.

They filed off toward their hibernation pods with the energy of people who'd pushed themselves just far enough.

Some time later, PB-49 greeted them in its usual efficient manner.

'Good rest cycle, crew,' it chirped. 'Zheimony has prepared refreshments. Also: a working tutorial for the language most used on the planet, ‘English.’ The videos can now be translated and understood in full. The think tank has requested your presence in the common room. They have findings to share.'

The crew assembled, now looking slightly more alert and considerably less grim.

In the common room, Executive Officer Vyla and the think tank team were already waiting. Cups of something hot steamed gently beside data tablets and projection nodes. Executive Officer Vyla looked up and beamed as the command crew entered.

'Welcome back,' hir said. 'We’ve made exciting discoveries during your absence. The message beacon material was invaluable, it gave us a cultural foothold we couldn’t have formed otherwise.'

Captain Jhyren nodded. 'Excellent. We’ll need every scrap of advantage we can get.'

First Officer Qelzara stepped forward. 'What about the rest of the passengers? We’ve got experts from across the board. They may spot patterns or data we’re missing.'

Executive Officer Vyla turned toward the others. 'Show of hands?'

Ten hands went up.

'We can do it,' said Executive Officer Vyla. 'They’ll need context and structure, but it’s time to involve the broader team.'

'Zheimony,' said Captain Jhyren, 'wake the rest of the passengers and invite them to the common room. Serve refreshments. And Communication Officer Qylth…'

Communication Officer Qylth gave a crisp nod.

'Yes, Captain?'

'Work with the think tank to prepare a wake-up speech. Friendly, informative, but honest. Deliver it here when everyone’s assembled.'

Communication Officer Qylth smiled faintly. 'Of course. Something inspirational with subtitles. I’ll leave out the part about the supernova, unless you want drama.'

'We’ve had enough of that,' said Captain Jhyren. 'Keep it light.'

Chapter Three ~ The Sapphire Planet

Part 14 ~ Scout The Planet

The passengers stirred as the hibernation pods disengaged with a soft hiss and glow. One by one, they were guided to the common room, still groggy but curious. Waiting for them on the central screen was the breathtaking image of a planet, vast, brilliant, and vividly blue.

Gasps echoed across the room.

Some stared in silence. Others whispered in wonder. The image was captivating, a swirling canvas of ocean and cloud, broken only by the contours of scattered landmasses. It shimmered like a jewel.

Communication Officer Qylth stepped forward, flanked by Astronomer Anyathra and Captain Jhyren.

'I’m Communication Officer Qylth,' hir began, voice warm but direct. 'Communication Officer aboard this vessel. With me are Astronomer Anyathra and Captain Jhyren. I know many of you have questions. Let me start by explaining our situation.'

The room quieted instantly.

'You’ve been in hibernation longer than expected. Shortly after launch, we were caught in a supernova event. The impact severely damaged our systems, we lost all main power, including the warp-drive. We’ve since recovered, and are continuing the mission using only planetary drive.'

hir gestured to the planet on the screen.

'This is our destination. It’s not the world we originally intended to reach, but, truthfully, it’s better. The scout-ship has already completed a preliminary survey. For more detail, I’ll hand you over to Astronomer Anyathra.'

Astronomer Anyathra stepped forward, eyes still locked on the image.

'This planet, nicknamed the Sapphire Planet for reasons I don’t need to explain, is entirely unlike anything in my experience. It’s larger than Xylos, but the gravity is manageable thanks to its generous moon, which orbits in a way that feels almost… familiar. Almost like Xylos orbited Aethel.'

hir looked across the gathered faces.

'Those of you who’ve served on colonies know most of our settlements are cramped. Carved into safe pockets of barren worlds. This planet is different. It’s alive. Not just in pockets, but everywhere. Our life sensors confirm it, rich biodiversity, all over the surface.'

hir pointed to a section of the map.

'Approximately 71% of the surface is water. That leaves 29% land, still more space than we’ve ever had to choose from. Most of that landmass is concentrated in the northern hemisphere. We’ll have a better picture when the scout-ship completes its full return scan.'

Captain Jhyren stepped forward, taking over smoothly.

'We performed multiple orbits. The radio spectrum is teeming with signals, structured, complex, purposeful. Thousands of artificial satellites orbit the planet, along with a truly impressive amount of space debris. There’s even what appears to be an abandoned space station. We’ll need to navigate carefully during descent.'

Captain Jhyren paused, letting that settle.

'We sent out a transponder challenge. Didn’t expect a reply, but we got one. Faint, ancient, and unmistakably Xylosian. The source? The moon.'

A murmur passed through the passengers.

'We located a message beacon,' Captain Jhyren continued. 'It identified itself as a guidepost. It had been waiting a long time. To keep it short, our ancestors were here. They made peaceful first contact with a tribe on this planet. That legacy could help us.'

Communication Officer Qylth resumed, summarising with steady purpose.

'This world is likely our new home. Medical Officer Skylar has a few essential observations to help us adapt. Medical Officer Skylar?'

Medical Officer Skylar stood, cool and composed.

'To survive here,' hir said, 'we must fully acclimatise.

Gravity will be increased gradually until it matches the planet’s.

Lighting and heating cycles will simulate day and night.

Nutritional routines will be adjusted to match local availability.

Environmental exposure must be gradual.

And above all, we will quarantine on arrival, for our safety and theirs.'

Hir nodded to Communication Officer Qylth, who picked up seamlessly.

'Zheimony has prepared sleep-learning modules. You’ll need to familiarise yourselves with the planet’s primary language, ‘English’, and learn their systems of time, distance, and measurement.'

Communication Officer Qylth smiled faintly. 'If you have any questions, feel free to ask Zheimony. It’s been waiting for this moment longer than any of us.'

The room fell quiet again, not from confusion, but clarity.

They had a destination. They had history. And they had a chance.

Part 15 ~ Preparations

The ship became a hive of quiet purpose.

Throughout its gently humming corridors, passengers and crew alike immersed themselves in their tasks. Lessons in English played softly in each personal pod. Simulations guided them through time-telling and basic planetary navigation. Everyone was learning, not just language and customs, but how to live under a different sun.

Zheimony managed the process with seamless grace. Environmental conditions were gradually adjusted: gravity increased, lighting shifted to mimic the local day-night cycle, and meal schedules were realigned. Even the elderly adapted, assisted by gentle routines and the ship’s continuous emotional monitoring. Whenever stress levels spiked, Zheimony’s calming protocols quietly engaged, a soft voice here, a warmer room temperature there.

Within days, English had been adopted as the ship’s standard spoken language. People were using 'night' and 'day' conversationally. Zheimony reprogrammed every internal clock to display hours, minutes, and seconds, and generated a localised calendar for the planet’s year. The transition was smooth, even elegant.

As they neared the planet’s moon, another meeting was called.

The common room was already filled when Communications Officer Qylth stepped forward, standing beside members of the think tank. Hir spoke in crisp, confident English.

'I’m impressed by how well you’ve all acclimatised. Now it’s time to discuss how we’re going to land, and survive.'

Communication Officer Qylth turned, gesturing toward Astronomer Anyathra.

'Astronomer Anyathra has prepared maps of our ancestors’ landing region. Astronomer?'

'Thank you,' Astronomer Anyathra began, stepping to the screen. 'Previously, I showed you orbital scans. Now we can begin naming the places.'

hir tapped a control.

'This is a flattened projection of the planet, a world map. Our destination is an island continent in the lower right quadrant, labelled ‘Australia.’'

Another click. The image zoomed in.

'This,' Astronomer Anyathra continued, 'is Australia. Our proposed landing site is approximately 200 kilometres southeast of a town called Alice Springs. It’s as close to the geographic centre of the continent as you can get.'

hir paused to let that settle.

'The region is remote, little infrastructure, few roads, and no regular accommodation for outsiders. Most of the population lives along the coast. Military installations are mostly coastal too, with one exception: Pine Gap, a joint U.S.- Australian base located southwest of Alice Springs. The base is secretive, and the early-warning radar systems point outward.'

A new image appeared: topographic, reddish in tone.

'This area is known as the Red Centre, though some locals call it the Dead Centre… for obvious reasons.'

Polite chuckles rolled through the room.

'In mid-September, the weather is stable. Rainfall is minimal, and daytime and nighttime temperatures are comfortable for locals. Sunrise typically occurs between 06:45 and 07:15, and sunset between 18:00 and 18:50. The optimal landing time is 14:30 hours, local time.'

Communication Officer Qylth stepped back in. 'Thank you, Astronomer. Now Sociologist Shelara will speak about the local population.'

Sociologist Shelara stood with calm authority.

'The land is traditionally held by the First Nation Peoples, the original inhabitants. In this region, they are part of the Western Desert Group (Wati). Their culture is ancient, and their customs remain active.'

hir paused to make sure the audience was listening.

'According to Aboriginal Welcome Protocol, you must light a smoky fire, wait for the Custodians to arrive, and then formally request permission to enter or remain in their country. This tradition is thousands of years old. It is respected, even now.'

Sociologist Shelara looked to the ceiling. 'Zheimony, can you generate fuel bricks suitable for making smoke and glowing embers?'

'Certainly, Sociologist Shelara,' Zheimony replied.

Communication Officer Qylth nodded. 'Radio Officer Xinar, you mentioned a landing protocol?'

Radio Officer Xinar stood, grinning faintly. 'Yes. There’s an emergency distress call used by aircraft: MAYDAY. It’s derived from the old French ‘M’aidez’, ‘help me.’ If a craft sends a MAYDAY and its identity can be verified, they’re obligated to respond with assistance, not aggression.'

Communication Officer Qylth summarised. 'So:

Plan A is to use MAYDAY protocol to justify an emergency landing.

Land at 14:00 hours, before the press or military can swarm us.

Activate the force field to deter intrusion, and deploy disinfected robots to police the perimeter and warn any locals.

Simultaneously, one robot starts a smoky fire for the Welcome Ceremony.'

Someone raised a hand. 'What’s Plan B?'

'Find a deserted island in a very large ocean,' Communication Officer Qylth deadpanned.

There were a few dry laughs. The tension eased.

'Let’s get ready, then,' Captain Jhyren said. 'Zheimony, plot our descent. Target arrival: 14:00 hours, mid-September.'

'Course plotted,' replied Zheimony, 'and landing protocols initiated.'

Chapter Four ~ Touchdown

Part 16 ~ The Sapphire Planet

In all its breathtaking splendour, it stood in stark contrast to anything the Xylosians had encountered in their long, weary search for a new home. The planet hung in the void like a suspended jewel, a sapphire sphere, aglow with motion and colour, framed by the endless black of space.

Its surface was partially veiled by a dynamic, swirling tapestry of cloud, white and grey, soft as breath, curling across its face like brushstrokes on a canvas. Through delicate breaks in this diaphanous cover, the continents revealed themselves: deep greens of dense forest, ochre and brown of dry plains, the shimmering gold of sweeping deserts.

As Zheimony steadily closed the distance, the interplay of sunlight upon the turning planet became a spectacle in itself. Long shadows stretched across the globe, shifting as day moved across its curved face. Storm systems rolled slowly across the oceans, their spiral arms glinting with power. Far to the north and south, the polar caps gleamed, stark, serene, and ancient.

A thin band of atmosphere wrapped the planet like a halo, pale blue, almost translucent, but unmistakeably alive. This glowing arc was no mere optical illusion; it was the planet’s shield, a fragile boundary between life and vacuum, between warmth and the cold silence beyond.

It shimmered.

And in its shimmering, it spoke of both wonder and warning, a reminder that everything below existed by the slimmest of margins.

The crew watched in silence. There was nothing to say. The sight was overwhelming, not just visual, but emotional. It was beautiful. It was vulnerable. And it would soon be home.

Part 17 ~ The Landing

As they approached the planet, Radio Officer transmitted his MAYDAY and turned on his newly made transponder.

“MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY.

Attention Alice Springs.

This is unregistered Starship Zheimony Zulu Zulu 99.

Emergency descent with main engine failure.

Will attempt VTOL landing 170 km southeast of Alice Springs.

Current position above target landing area.

Entering atmosphere shortly.

Repeat, emergency landing! We come in peace. Do not engage countermeasures.”

The answer was not immediate; they must have thought it was a practical joke until they saw the transponder reply.

“Roger MAYDAY. MAYDAY 7700 acknowledged.

Stop transmitting MAYDAY.

Emergency VTOL descent 170 km southeast of Alice Springs. All aircraft within 20 km of the area leave immediately.

Zulu Zulu 99, switch to 126.7 megahertz.

Cancel distress. Distress traffic ended.”

“WILCO, Alice,” replied Radio Officer.

Every passing second stretched into an eternity as the colossal starship hurtled towards the ground. There was a short period when the air around the ship glowed with ionisation and all radio contact was lost. The ship slowed to a speed below the speed of sound and made a virtually silent descent, the transponder beeping from a number of radar sources in all directions.

“A lot of people that heard the MAYDAY are tracking us,” said Radio Officer. “Let’s hope they are friendly and don’t shoot first and ask questions afterwards.”

“Our ship's force field is extremely robust and used to protect a city; it should protect us against most weapons,” said Captain Jhyren, “and give us a chance to show that we come in place. Many of those science fiction movies Earthlings produce show aliens as violent monsters.”

The descent was smooth, and despite the crew's fears of being attacked on the way down, nothing happened, it was almost an anticlimax. As the vessel pierced the atmosphere, the only resistance they met was the thin air itself.

The chosen landing site, point blank in the centre of the Australian outback, was a desolate tapestry of ochre dust and scrubby bushes stretching to the horizon. Here, hundreds of kilometres from any major city, Australia’s defences were as sparse as the vegetation. Even the long-range radars, designed to scan for incoming missiles, were pointed towards the coasts, leaving this vast underbelly blissfully ignorant.

The starship was a beacon visible for kilometres around. A lone eagle, disturbed in its search for food, screeched in surprise; its cry echoed in the vast emptiness. A kangaroo hopping across the dusty plain stopped dead in its tracks, its head cocked inquisitively at the strange sight in the sky.

A small township came into view, and Captain Jhyren turned the force field to transparent. Captain Jhyren opened the communicator on the local airfield's frequency. “Ground control, this is Zulu Zulu 99, do you read me? Over.”

Captain Jhyren repeated the call, “Ground control, this is Zulu Zulu 99. I need to make an emergency landing; do you read me? Over.”

There was a buzz and a click, followed by voices arguing before a breathless voice replied, “Zulu Zulu 99, you have permission to land. Over”

“Thank you, ground control. WILCO. I will need to put the starship in quarantine on landing. There is a protective force field around the starship; don't touch the force field.”

The starship's designers had anticipated landings on a variety of terrains, even factoring in the force field flattening the ground upon landing. Fortunately, the wet season was a month away; the ground was quite hard and could easily support the starship.

The desert floor shuddered with the behemoth's arrival. A thick plume of dust billowed into the sky, momentarily obscuring the vessel. Inside, the crew braced themselves, the only sound the groaning of stressed metal against the unforgiving terrain. When the dust finally settled, there was a scene of surreal juxtaposition.

Upon landing, the force field enveloped the ground; any curious touch would result in a mild electric shock. Within the field, the land was sterilised, a two-metre deep zone purged of any vegetation, creatures, or potential pathogens. Security bots rapidly exited the force field and set up a perimeter guard. Meanwhile, a work bot rushed out to start a smoky fire.

Several tense moments passed before the communicator crackled. “Zulu Zulu 99, we can see smoke. Do you need emergency assistance? Repeat, do you need emergency assistance? Over.”

“Roger, Ground Control. No, we had a reasonably soft landing, thank you. All systems are green. The smoke is for your traditional welcome protocol. Shields are up; please do not touch,” replied Captain Jhyren. “We would like to see the Elders to obtain permission to park here for an indeterminate period.”

There was a short delay, the transmitter being keyed then released as if a discussion was ongoing. Eventually, Ground Control got their act together.

“The Elders need to prepare for the welcome protocol but will be with you soon,” said a breathless voice.

“The Dreamtime prediction is true,” whispered another voice in the background.

“Well, we have arrived; now we wait for the welcoming committee,” said Captain Jhyren. “It seems we have been expected.”

“Put up the telescopic masts with the red lights, we don’t want any aircraft bumping into us in the dark.”

Chapter Five ~ Canberra

Part 18 ~ Spring

It’s a near-perfect September day in Queensland. The sun sits high but not harsh, and a light breeze moves through the trees, keeping the warmth pleasant. The air feels fresh, the kind that makes you want to slow down and breathe it in. The leaves rustle gently overhead, and the light has that golden quality that seems to settle over everything without fuss. As the locals say, 'Beautiful one day, perfect the next.' And today, no one would argue. There’s a calmness about the place, a kind of quiet contentment that’s hard to describe but easy to feel. A kookaburra cackles from somewhere near the gum trees, followed by the softer chatter of lorikeets flitting between blossoms. The sounds feel as much a part of the day as the sunshine.

Further inland, it’s warmer—but not in a troubling way. In the Red Centre, the sun feels stronger, and the dry air doesn’t offer much relief. The temperature hovers in the mid-twenties, but it feels hotter under that relentless sky. Still, it’s manageable. The desert light is sharper, the landscape quieter, and there’s a sense of space that stretches in every direction. High above, a wedge-tailed eagle circles lazily, its cry echoing once before fading into the vast silence. It’s a beauty of a different kind—harsher perhaps, but no less compelling.

Down in Canberra, spring has taken hold with quiet determination. After the long winter, the trees are waking up—soft green shoots appearing on bare branches. Jacarandas have begun to bloom in their usual brilliant blue, while the wattles blaze yellow in the sunlight. Ornamental cherry blossoms dot the gardens, pale pink and white against the sky. Eucalypts, sturdy and familiar, stand over it all, their scent drifting on the air. Even the ground cover seems to be joining in, with new shoots and flowers cropping up across the city. A magpie warbles in the distance, and for a moment everything feels well-ordered and in place. It's a season of renewal, not showy, but unmistakably alive.

Part 19 ~ Operation UFO

When the Xylosians transmitted their Mayday call, they inadvertently triggered a dusty relic from Cold War secrecy: Operation Majestic-12. Long considered defunct, its existence was denied, and it stirred faintly in the background. But the response was slow and ineffectual. The aliens had landed not in Nevada or Kazakhstan, but in the Australian outback, and they had done so openly, making their descent visible to the public. That alone made MJ-12 irrelevant.

In contrast, the Australian Signals Directorate was alert and characteristically forthright. Their public website even included regular updates on cyber attacks and emerging threats. UFOs, it seemed, weren’t out of the question.

Australia’s answer to such events was unambiguous. Operation UFO.

At precisely 14:03 hours, the Royal Australian Air Force base at Amberley received confirmation of the distress call. In the comms room, the duty officer struck the alarm button with the flat of his hand. The room, previously quiet, burst into motion.

The base commander appeared moments later, already fastening his jacket. 'Duty Officer, report!'

The officer turned from his screen. 'A starship identifying itself as Zheimony has declared a Mayday. Request was directed to Alice Springs control, about 150 kilometres south-east of their position. The call followed all international emergency protocols. Their beacon is active.'

The commander’s eyebrows rose. 'A starship, you say. They know our protocols?'

The officer played the recording. A clear, unaccented voice repeated a standard emergency format, using the correct phonetic structure and all required authentication codes.

The commander nodded slowly. 'Unbelievable. What did Alice Springs do?'

'They followed the book. As they should.'

'And us?'

'Operation UFO is in motion, sir. We think last year’s UFO sighting near the same area may have been a survey flight.'

'Right. Scramble the emergency response team. And inform the Prime Minister. This is going to ruin someone’s long lunch.'

'Yes, sir.'

At that moment, in Canberra, the Prime Minister had just finished his lunch and was contemplating a second espresso when the red phone rang.

He sighed, picked it up, and pressed the secure button. 'Encrypt now.'

A voice replied instantly. 'Encrypted. Operation UFO is active. An alien starship has landed, safely, and publicly, in the dead centre of the country. A courier is en route with documentation. Area 51 won’t touch this one, it’s too visible. Your phone will be ringing shortly, if it isn’t already. Good luck.'

The line went dead.

The Prime Minister tapped the intercom. 'George, set the phones to auto-reply. The message is: The Prime Minister will issue a statement once all the facts are known.'

'We already have half the press on the line, sir,' George replied.

'Then give them the message.'

'Yes, sir.'

The PM stood, already feeling the weight of it all settle on his shoulders. 'I want Brandon Cooper, Justin Parker, and Angus Lewis in my office. Now.'

'Yes, sir, the Ministers for Home Affairs and Cyber Security, Immigration, and Emergency Management. I’ll contact them immediately.'

They arrived within fifteen minutes. The Prime Minister didn’t waste words.

'Operation UFO is active. That means what it says. A UFO has landed, confirmed. I want the three of you in Alice Springs by tonight. An ADF chopper will collect you in the morning and take you to the site. Documents are on the way.'

He paused. 'Gentlemen, this one’s real.'

Part 20 ~ The Aliens Conditions

It took a while for the courier to arrive and when he read the contents he was amazed.

'George the aliens want to deal with the Australian government exclusively and they refuse to deal with any organisation that is not Australian owned.' he said with an unbelievable tone.

George just stood with his mouth and eyes wide open.

'OK George, show time, lets tell the world.'

The news that the PM was holding a press conference in the courtyard near the Prime Minister’s office spread like wildfire.

George set up the podium and made sure all systems were working, He then disappeared inside the building before re-appearing and announcing

'Members of the press, the Prime Minister'.

The PM took up his place behind the podium and looked around the room.

'At 2 PM this afternoon a Starship from another galaxy requested an emergency landing 120 km south west of Alice Springs. The aliens have requested that this evening be kept free for ceremonial purposes. They have also requested that all communication with the rest of the world be via the Australian Government.'

He looked around the room and could see people straining to ask questions.

'The ADF will be in attendance and there is an embedded TV team who will be eyes and ears for now. The aliens will be cooperating with the ADF team.' He nodded to George.

'Any questions?' asked George.

'What are we doing at the moment?'

'We have the situation in hand and first contact will soon be initiated.' stated the PM going a bit ocker 'We are taking the situation fair dinkum seriously and will throw another prawn on the barbie for the aliens if they come in peace.'

he paused waiting for the laugh and continued in a sober manner

'We understand the aliens will be meeting first with the Country custodians to ask permission to stay. Government representatives are on their way to the landing site as we speak.'

'There is a rumour that the UN wants to take charge of the crash area,'

'The aliens have refused point blank to deal with the UN'

'Is it true that the Eastern block has offered to supply troops to police the area.'

'My office is fielding calls from all over the world offering ‘help’, even the communist nations were offering military support.'

The PM nodded at George and stood down from the podium. 'That's all for now' said George 'we are really busy at the moment but will keep you up to date with press releases.

Chapter Six The ADF

Part 21 ~ First Responders

The MAYDAY was confirmed at RAAF Base Amberley and the emergency response group was set into motion.

One platoon, consisting of one officer, twenty-seven enlisted men and twelve support personnel, was immediately outfitted and moved to Amberley. They were joined by two media professionals who were on standby for just such an occasion.

Two C-17A Globemasters were swiftly readied on the tarmac. The first was assigned to the platoon, with seating and tie-downs arranged for rapid embarkation. The second was loaded with critical ground support assets.

At the centre of the loadout were two Bushmaster Protected Mobility Vehicles. Designed to withstand small arms fire and landmine blasts, the Bushmasters were fully fuelled and fitted with remote weapon stations, encrypted comms gear, satellite uplinks, and medical packs. Each vehicle carried extra rations, water tanks, and modular cargo for extended deployment.

Accompanying them was a Black Hawk helicopter, secured with its rotor blades folded for transport. This aircraft provided both flexibility and a commanding view of the terrain. Its payload included spare parts, refuelling gear, and sling-load cables for light supply drops. The Black Hawk's crew compartment was stocked with night vision goggles, signal flares, and a loudhailer system, in case communication with alien visitors proved more acoustic than digital.

Additional cargo included a collapsible field command tent, sensor packages for atmospheric sampling, portable lighting rigs, and a basic science station in a sealed crate. No one had specified what might be needed for first contact with a starship. The planners had opted for a little of everything.

The mission was time-critical. The platoon was expected to reach the starship just before dusk. Daylight was now a limiting factor.

First on the scene would be:

Lieutenant Emma Hayes, a hard-nosed career soldier with many campaigns behind her. She carried herself with quiet authority, the kind that didn’t need to shout. Years of field operations had given her an unshakeable presence, even when under pressure. She was firm, but not cold. Those who served with her knew she could deliver orders and comfort in the same breath. Her expression was usually serious, but when she smiled, it was like the sun breaking through cloud. Rare, unexpected, and oddly reassuring.

Sergeant Lachlan (Lochie) Williams, lean, sharp-minded, and methodical, he was the sort of soldier who memorised equipment manifests and terrain maps for fun. He had a near-perfect sense of timing and a gift for anticipating problems before they appeared. If Hayes was the backbone of the platoon, Lochie was the muscle and the metronome.

Signaller Thomas Brown, quiet, unassuming, and permanently attached to a toolkit. He seemed to know how everything worked, including equipment no one else had touched before. Rumour had it he once restored a surveillance drone mid-flight using only a multitool and chewing gum. Whether true or not, no one doubted his instincts.

Medic Emily Frazer, calm in a crisis, tough when required, and fiercely protective of her team. She had the bedside manner of a seasoned nurse and the battlefield grit of a frontline veteran. No one wanted to be injured, but if they were, they hoped it happened near Emily.

Journalist Jessica Fisher, a clear-eyed war correspondent who told stories without spin. She had embedded with troops from Kandahar to the Coral Sea and had earned the trust of commanders and privates alike. Hayes valued her for her discretion, accuracy, and dry humour.

Cameraman Matthew Taylor, quiet, composed, and often overlooked, which suited him perfectly. His footage had won awards, but he preferred to stay behind the lens. He had a knack for capturing moments that mattered, not just images, and he always seemed to be in the right place without getting in the way.

As the aircraft engines roared to life and wheels lifted from the tarmac, the mission to meet the visitors from Zheimony was already underway.

Part 22 ~ On The Way

Once airborne, with the heavy drone of the C-17A settling into the background, Lieutenant Emma Hayes opened the sealed mission folder on her lap. The document was printed, stamped and annotated in red biro by someone high up the food chain. She read in silence for a few minutes, expression unreadable.

Then she raised her head and signalled to the platoon.

'All right, troops. Prio systems on. Let’s get this briefing done before we hit turbulence.'

Around the hold, personal headsets flickered to life. The platoon, strapped in along rows of webbed seating, gave her their full attention.

'We’ve scored the UFO mission,' Hayes said. 'I expect you’ve all seen the headlines. Our guests didn’t exactly sneak in quietly. They made a proper show of landing, and chose one of the most difficult locations to reach this side of nowhere. The whole world’s watching now, and just to keep us on our best behaviour, we’re bringing along a TV crew.'

There were a few dry chuckles. Matthew Taylor adjusted his camera case without expression.

Hayes glanced back at the folder. 'Right. Here’s one for the books. The Starship’s crew have provided us with robots. Yes, actual robots. They’ll assist us with perimeter patrol once we’re on the ground. Details to follow.'

She turned a page, frowning slightly.

'There’s also a First Nations welcoming ceremony underway as we speak. Traditional custodians have been consulted. A corroboree will begin shortly after we land. We are to observe protocol, stay respectful, and offer support where needed.'

A hand went up.

'How big is this Starship, ma’am?'

'About the size of a sea freighter. In the satellite photo, it looks like a giant metal packing container with no obvious windows. I’ll pass it around.'

Another voice. 'Why the full C-ration loadout? This smells like prep for a combat zone.'

Hayes nodded. 'Good question. The landing site’s extremely remote. There are no facilities. No supplies. No local infrastructure. Everything has to be brought in. We have rations in the cargo bay and they will be flown in by the chopper once it has been re-assembled. We’ll resupply through The Alice, about 150 kilometres out, but for now we’re on our own.'

She flicked to the final page and raised an eyebrow.

'Apparently, higher command wants us to contribute to the cultural festivities. Among our rations you’ll find a chiller box filled with sausages. Hot-dog buns too. The idea is that we set up our field kitchen and offer food to attendees, civilians and guests alike.'

That got a few raised eyebrows and smirks. Someone muttered, 'First contact and snags.'

Hayes ignored it.

'Look, I know this feels surreal. Robots, sausages, alien guests, and a cultural ceremony in the middle of nowhere. But we’ve got a job to do while everyone else is enjoying themselves. Those off duty can take part, but remember, this is an operational deployment.'

She snapped the folder shut.

'Oh, and one last thing. The area is a dry zone. No alcohol. That includes ceremonial gifts, celebrations, and your personal stash, Sergeant.'

More laughter, this time from the back row. Even Lochie allowed himself a half-smile.

Outside the aircraft, the afternoon light stretched long across the desert floor as the convoy roared on, carrying Earth’s first formal response to an alien visitor, and an awful lot of sausages.

Chapter Seven ~ Welcome

Part 23 ~ Chilled Water and Warm Intentions

The portal was positioned midway along the starship’s hull, facing north toward the sparse desert plain. A wide ramp led to a large, circular airlock with smooth metallic walls that shimmered faintly in the sun. On either side of the portal, comfortable benches had been arranged in a welcoming arc. A holographic screen hovered just inside, projecting calming light patterns that shifted subtly with time.

Despite the dry heat outside, the starship’s internal air-conditioning quickly rendered the portal chamber comfortable, even refreshing. The air was clean and lightly scented, though no one could place the fragrance.

'It’s a pity we can’t offer our guests our customary refreshments,' said Communications Officer Qylth, watching the screens with hands clasped behind hir back.

'What about pure chilled water?' suggested Medical Officer Skylar, standing nearby. 'It won’t harm them, and it’s better than offering nothing at all.'

Communication Officer Qylth nodded. 'What an excellent idea. PB-49, please set up a small table in the centre with drinking vessels.'

'At once,' came the cheerful reply. The protocol-bot moved with fluid precision, producing a folding table and setting it neatly in place. From a storage compartment, it retrieved a curious jug and six matching tumblers, translucent and opalescent, with colours that seemed to shift depending on the angle of the light. They felt faintly warm to the touch, yet the water they contained was noticeably cold. A small gesture, perhaps, but a thoughtful one.

Part 24 ~ Dust and Discovery

A short time later, a rising cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. The Xylosian crew watched in silence as a convoy approached, the first human visitors from the nearby settlement. The lead vehicle pulled up short of the ceremonial fire, and six individuals stepped out. They walked steadily toward the portal, their manner calm and deliberate.

Captain Jhyren, Executive Officer Vyla, Communications Officer Qylth, and Sociologist Shelara seated themselves within the holographic booth behind the reception area. The holograms responded to their presence, subtly adjusting to highlight the guests as they approached.

PB-49 positioned itself at the centre of the portal, posture upright, arms slightly extended with palms open in what it had calculated to be a universally non-threatening gesture. Its voice was modulated for warmth and clarity.

'Good afternoon,' it said. 'Please, make yourselves comfortable. The chilled water provided is safe for human consumption.'

The visitors entered, one by one, eyeing their surroundings with interest. There was a moment of hesitation as they noticed their hosts’ appearance, small, fine-boned beings, standing under five feet tall, with smooth, lizard-like skin in iridescent tones of green and bronze. Their eyes were calm, reflective, and unblinking.

Part 25 ~ Ancestral Greetings

The silence stretched briefly, until Captain Jhyren rose and spoke.

'Greetings,' hir said in measured, resonant tones. 'My name is Captain Jhyren, and on my left are Executive Officer Vyla, Communication Officer Qylth, and Sociologist Shelara. As an authorised Elder of the Xylos People, I acknowledge the Traditional Owners of the country on which we are meeting. I pay my respects to their Elders, past and present, and to the Elders of other communities who may be here today.'

The leader of the human delegation took a step forward. He looked as though he belonged to the landscape, skin bronzed, eyes weathered but alert, a cracked Akubra hat resting on his head like an old friend. His shirt and trousers were faded army surplus, but his boots were unmistakably R.M. Williams, well worn and polished with care. A rolled Driza-Bone jacket was clipped to his backpack, and from a side pocket peeked a smartphone and a battered tablet.

'My name’s Tony Turner,' he said with a nod. 'The Elders asked me to accompany them and help translate and explain. On my left is Elder Uncle David Miller, and Elder Aunty Grace Foster. Opposite are Joe Green, Chloe Hamilton, and Olivia Mason, they’re our experts in traditional welcome. The Elders would like it known that they are unafraid. The Dreamtime foretold the arrival of lizard people.'

The Elders stepped forward and murmured soft greetings in their own language. Uncle David’s voice was deep and slow, each word carrying weight. Aunty Grace’s response followed gently, like the rustle of leaves in dry wind. They gave Tony a gentle nudge.

Tony paused and took a sip of water before continuing.

'Uncle Dave offered a Welcome to Country in language. He called on the good spirits of his ancestors, and the spirits of the land’s ancestors, to watch over us all and keep your people safe while you are here. Then he turned his words to your ancestors, saying that they are welcome to share this country and that their presence will be protected until the day you return home.'

Sociologist Shelara leaned forward, fascinated. 'I hope our facial expressions don’t send unintended signals,' hir said. 'So far, we seem to smile as you do. When we observed your welcoming traditions, they felt familiar to us, not the same, but resonant. Please, tell us more about the Dreamtime prediction.'

Tony glanced at the Elders. Uncle David gave a brief nod, and Tony began to translate once more, bridging two cultures, under the eyes of spirits old and new.

Part 26 ~ Dreamtime Embers

They chatted easily at first, seated in the open-air portal lounge as warm air drifted through from the western dunes. Talk turned to the Dreamtime, stories handed down through generations that spoke of beings from the stars, some with lizard-skin, some bearing messages. There had even been a sighting the year before, Tony explained. A scout-ship, silent and glinting, had passed overhead near the full moon. Elders took it as a sign.

Joe Green stood and looked toward the fire. 'Would it be possible to make the fire bigger? The Elders asked us to perform a Smoking Ceremony, but firewood is scarce around here.'

PB-49 perked up. 'We will build it to your requirements! We have plenty of fire bricks and thermal shielding materials available. I can supervise the construction if you wish.'

'With your permission,' Joe said, glancing at Captain Jhyren, 'we’ll begin the Welcome Fire Ceremony.'

'Permission granted,' said Captain Jhyren with a small nod. Hir voice carried the steady warmth of someone who understood the moment's gravity.

Just then, a roar split the sky. A fighter plane streaked overhead, banking once, then circling the ship in two wide loops before vanishing back in the direction from which it came. It left behind a low hum that vibrated through the desert air.

'Another visitor,' said Captain Jhyren dryly. 'Please, continue with your ceremony.'

Uncle David moved toward the small refreshment table. He studied the jug, intrigued. It was translucent, bulbous at the base with a close-fitting top. A modest handle curved along one side and cleverly doubled as an opener. Its surface felt oddly warm against his hand, though the jug held no heat source. The accompanying tumblers, clearly made for smaller hands, glowed faintly with shifting colours, mirroring the hues of sky, sand, and distant clouds.

He picked up the jug and poured water into one of the cups, eyeing it carefully.

'The water is absolutely pure,' said PB-49, a hint of eagerness in its tone. 'Distilled directly from Earth’s atmosphere. It will not harm you.'

Uncle David raised the cup to his lips and took a cautious sip. He blinked, swallowed, and then smiled. 'Mmm. Now this is good. As fresh as rainwater, really cold, too. Haven’t had water this clean in years.'

'I am pleased you like it,' said PB-49, visibly beaming, at least in posture.

'It’s better than the bottled stuff you pay for. Grace, have a cup. Better still, fill your bottle. Mine too, if there’s enough.'

'We have more water. Please, take as much as you like,' PB-49 replied.

Uncle David nodded his thanks, took another long drink, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. 'Cheers. Our mob’s getting ready.'

He reached into a canvas pouch and produced a narrow red cloth, tying it slowly around his forehead with practised care. The movement was deliberate, a quiet signal that something important was about to begin.

In the growing stillness, the crackle of the fire took on a rhythm of its own.

Part 27 ~ Smoky Welcome

Tony turned to the Xylosians. 'Uncle Dave is a man of few words, unless he’s speaking in his own tongue. I hope I’m not being rude, but I’m unsure how to address you. Should I say ladies or gentlemen?'

'We do not have sex in the way your people understand it,' replied Captain Jhyren calmly. 'The nearest respectful term in English is ‘Mix’, spelt M-X. It is acceptable for any role or individual among us.'

'Thank you, Mx,' said Tony, inclining his head. 'For thousands of years, our First Nations people have used Smoking Ceremonies to cleanse places and people of bad spirits, and to promote well-being, both for themselves and their guests. The smoke is drawn from carefully selected native herbs and leaves. It won’t harm you. The practice differs depending on region and language group, as do the specific plants used. Out here in the desert, our choices are a bit limited. Joe, Chloe and Olivia will be here shortly.'

Moments later, Joe Green returned. His upper body was painted with traditional patterns in red, white and black ochre. He carried a time-worn wooden bowl that had clearly seen many ceremonies. He moistened it lightly, added a bundle of aromatic desert herbs, and laid glowing coals from the fire on top. A fragrant smoke curled upward.

Joe entered the portal slowly, moving with deliberate reverence, and carefully wafted smoke around the chamber. He passed the bowl to Uncle Dave with both hands.

'This ceremonial dish,' Tony explained, 'was shaped by nature, a hollow formed in the base of a living tree. Generations have used it, and their hands have worn it smooth. Now we’ll add fresh herbs to the fire, and everyone present is invited to cleanse themselves in the smoke.'

Aunty Grace stepped forward with quiet dignity. She added wet leaves to the coals, sending up a sudden burst of aromatic steam. Uncle Dave passed her the wooden bowl, and in exchange, she handed him a bundled sheath of herbs wrapped in twine. They moved together with the familiarity of lifelong practice.

Joe stepped out of the portal again and picked up his didgeridoo, while the two women took their places beside the fire with their clapping sticks in hand.

The ceremony began with a low, rhythmic drone. Joe raised the didgeridoo to his lips and swayed gently as he coaxed a deep, pulsing vibration from the instrument. The sound resonated across the open land, ancient and grounding. Every note seemed to ripple outward, stirring something deep in the bones of the Earth.

Part 28 ~ The Gentle Purification

He struck the side of the instrument rhythmically with a throwing stick, adding texture. Then the women joined in, their clapping sticks creating a sharp, percussive counterpoint that merged with the drone, producing a hypnotic rhythm that seemed to stretch time itself.

As the sound rose and deepened, Uncle Dave stepped forward and gently placed the herbs onto the burning leaves. A new wave of fragrant smoke curled skyward, sweet and earthy, and was caught by the cooling evening breeze.

The visitors, both human and Xylosian, stood slowly, walking through the drifting smoke with open arms. Some closed their eyes. The smoke clung to them gently, like a soft veil, brushing skin, fabric, scales. It carried away negativity and welcomed the good spirits, as was tradition. Even PB-49 stood quietly, sensors dimmed, as the cleansing passed through the portal.

When the Elders returned to their seats, Sociologist Shelara rose from the holographic booth.

'We would like to express our appreciation,' hir said, 'by offering a traditional welcome song in our own language.'

The Elders nodded their approval. 'It’s good,' said Uncle Dave, 'that our traditions can shake hands with your traditions.'

Part 29 ~ Gift of Gold, Gift of Peace

The holograms in the portal shimmered, then slowly dissolved into a translucent view of a Xylosian choir, small, smooth-scaled figures like Captain Jhyren and Communication Officer Qylth, standing in a soft-lit chamber. The choir began to sing.

The music was strange, wordless, and beautiful. It moved like wind over water, rising and falling in shifting harmonies. Though no words were understood, the intention was unmistakable: welcome, peace, honour, kinship. The notes seemed to wrap themselves around the gathering like the smoke had done, gentle, embracing, otherworldly.

When the final note faded, a long silence followed.

Sociologist Shelara spoke again. 'PB-49 has been instructed to present you with a gift, a gold coin. One side bears the chemical symbol for gold, the other is inscribed with authentication in Xylosian, along with a unique serial number.'

PB-49 stepped forward with a small presentation box. Inside, the coin caught the firelight and glinted softly. It was not large, but the gesture carried weight. Uncle Dave accepted it with both hands, head bowed slightly. It was a symbol of respect, and it was received as such.

As the ceremony came to a quiet close, a shared stillness settled over the group. The moment had passed, but something deeper remained. They had cleansed more than skin. The gathering felt changed, lighter somehow, connected.

Uncle Dave looked near tears. He took a breath, collected himself, and stood.

'We need to prepare for the Corroboree tonight,' he said, voice steady now. 'Keep the fire going while we’re gone.'

Part 30 ~ The Troops Arrive

The first C-17A Globemaster touched down on a narrow airstrip, little more than a straight line of tarmac etched into the ochre soil. The location, about 70 kilometres north of the landing site, had been chosen for its relative isolation and low-profile nature. Dust rose in soft plumes as the aircraft’s rear ramp descended.

Troops disembarked swiftly, their boots hitting the ground in unison. The air buzzed with energy and unspoken urgency. Supply crates were offloaded with practised precision. The soldiers moved quickly to establish a defensive perimeter, eyes scanning the surrounding scrubland. Although no threat was expected, the tension was real. This was as much a diplomatic mission as it was a potential first contact operation, and no one was taking chances.

As the first aircraft began its ascent, engines roaring back into the sky, the second Globemaster made its final approach. With a thud and a screech of tyres, it landed smoothly and taxied into place. The massive cargo bay opened to reveal two Bushmaster Protected Mobility Vehicles, a Black Hawk helicopter, and a bulk load of communications, sensor, and survival equipment.

The Bushmasters were quickly driven down the ramp and into position. Troops climbed aboard, checking equipment, securing gear, and exchanging few words.

Lieutenant Emma Hayes gave the signal. The convoy rolled out toward the alien vessel.

Hearts beat faster as the scrub gave way to clearer land and the top of the Starship emerged into view, immense, metallic, and oddly featureless. It sat like a misplaced shipping container from another dimension, perfectly level, perfectly still.

Part 31 ~ The Robot with a Flag

As they approached, an unexpected figure moved into their path.

It was a shiny, humanoid bot, chrome-limbed and upright, with a floating holographic projection where its head should have been. The projected face was stylised and deliberately generic: a cartoonish smile, round eyes, and raised brows frozen in cheer. It waved a white flag in one hand with almost theatrical flair.

The Bushmasters halted. Lieutenant Hayes stepped out, flanked by Sergeant Lachlan 'Lochie' Williams. The bot raised its arm in salute.

'Good afternoon, Lieutenant Hayes, Sergeant Williams' it said in a pleasant, slightly feminine voice. 'I am a protocol-bot designated PB-33. My assigned function is to serve as your liaison to the Starship, its bots, and your platoon. I am equipped with access to your radio frequencies and may act as a personal audio-visual relay to any contact of your choosing, local or remote.'

Emma blinked. 'You know my name?'

PB-33 tilted its head slightly, the holographic smile unchanging. 'We listen to all radio chatter as standard protocol.'

There was a pause. Lochie raised an eyebrow.

'Well,' he murmured, 'that’s... efficient.'

Emma didn’t respond. Her eyes were still on the bot, assessing.

PB-33 continued, 'The PB-33 units currently securing the perimeter have been placed under your command. While unarmed, we are protected by bullet-resistant armour and capable of physically restraining threats. We are designed for non-lethal intervention.'

Lochie gave a short laugh under his breath. 'Unarmed robot muscle. You really have thought of everything.'

'The town Elders and the Xylosian hosts,' PB-33 added, 'have extended a formal invitation to Lieutenant Hayes and Sergeant Williams. They would be honoured by your presence at the welcoming ceremony being held at the Starship’s entrance. There will be a bonfire. Please do not wear weapons.'

Emma glanced at Lochie, then nodded.

'It would be a pleasure,' she said. 'Please inform the Elders that the Australian Government has also instructed us to assist with the sausage sizzle. Once the field kitchen is operational, we’ll see to that.'

PB-33 paused, its head flickering briefly as if consulting a network.

'The Elders thank you,' it replied, 'and say they look forward to meeting you both.'

Chapter Eight ~ The Corroboree

Part 32 ~ Sunset

The Australian Defence Force had established a firm yet discreet presence. Personnel secured the airfield and surrounding approaches, allowing the townsfolk to celebrate without concern. Police set up roadblocks at key points to keep unauthorised vehicles out of the area. The decision wasn’t without controversy. Frustrated members of the press, barred from full access, were politely but firmly ordered back to their accommodations before darkness made travel too risky.

Yet despite these tensions, a remarkable balance had been struck. Military discipline merged with local tradition, enabling the community to feel safe, curious, and deeply proud. What unfolded that evening was not an exercise in control, but one of trust and respect.

As dusk settled over the landscape, the western horizon flared with bands of pink, orange, and deepening violet. The colours seemed to stretch forever over the desert plain, washing the small town in an otherworldly glow.

The Starship Zheimony stood quietly on the edge of it all, its gleaming hull reflecting the last golden light like a polished monument. It had become part of the scenery now, neither alien nor out of place. Within its walls, Zheimony’s crew gathered by the observation panels, watching in silence.

This was the first sunset any of them had ever seen.

It stirred something in them, a feeling that could not easily be named. They were stranded, yes, but not abandoned. They were witness to beauty. And there was still the sunrise to look forward to.

Zheimony’s internal systems quietly recorded the moment, adding it to the collective memory. The AI noted that when Tony Turner and Lieutenant Emma Hayes saw one another from across the crowd and exchanged a brief, shy smile, both seemed momentarily lighter. Was this the beginning of something human and unplanned?

Outside, the first fires were lit. The scent of grilling sausages drifted into the air as the sausage sizzle commenced, a well-loved tradition that anchored the surreal evening in something warmly familiar.

'We wish to thank you, Lieutenant Hayes,' one of the Elders said with a smile. 'For providing the sausage sizzle.'

'It was the Australian Government, really,' Emma replied, ladling more sausages onto the grill, 'but I’m glad to be part of this historic occasion.'

Locals began arriving early, mindful of the fading light and eager for a good spot. Some brought folding chairs, others picnic rugs. Children ran ahead, while adults trailed behind, chatting and laughing. A hollow in front of the Starship had been selected for the evening’s ceremony, a natural amphitheatre bordered by gum trees and low sandstone.

The scent of eucalyptus mingled with charcoal and meat. Children giggled as they carried plates to Elders and guests, their excitement carrying like birdsong through the dusk.

The fire was built up into a roaring heart of flame. Its glow painted the faces of the crowd in flickering light, giving the scene a dreamlike quality.

Part 33 ~ The Spirit Dance

The Elders, dressed in garments adorned with ochre tones and traditional patterns, called for silence. It was time.

From the shadows, Chloe Hamilton, Olivia Mason, and Joseph Green emerged. Their bodies were painted in sweeping lines, circles and dots, symbols that told stories older than the land itself.

Joe raised his didgeridoo. The first low, mournful note rolled out across the hollow. The crowd fell still.

Chloe stepped forward, beginning the dance. Her movements were graceful but grounded, her arms rising and falling like flowing water. She leapt like a kangaroo, her feet thudding softly on the earth, every motion a memory carried through her body.

The dance circled the fire. The didgeridoos hum deepened, joined by the rhythmic clap of sticks in Olivia’s and Chloe’s hands. Others joined in, voices in song, hands clapping in rhythm, spears tapping the ground in time with the Earth’s own heartbeat.

Children stood mesmerised, eyes wide and glowing in the firelight. The music, the movement, the soundscape built layer upon layer, a tapestry of rhythm and breath.

The Corroboree reached a vibrant peak. Joy and gravity interwove. Dancers moved faster, sweat glinting on painted skin, their feet stirring the dust of generations. The fire crackled and roared, casting sparks into the night.

Part 34 ~ Tales of the Rainbow Serpent

Then the Elders raised their hands. The crowd hushed.

Aunty Grace stepped forward, her voice steady and rich. 'Once, when the world was young,' she began, 'the sky and the land were one. The Rainbow Serpent came, winding through the valleys, carving the rivers.'

Children crept closer. Uncle David joined her, recounting tales of the Kangaroo and Emu, of the Sun and Moon. These were not bedtime stories. These were truth, passed down in language and rhythm, in movement and smoke.

Chloe stepped forward once more, quiet now. 'We invite everyone to reflect on the stories,' she said. 'To give thanks for what connects us, to this place, and to one another.'

Around the fire, faces glowed with reverence. The night held its breath.

Then, slowly, conversation returned. Laughter resumed. People shared food, memories, and dreams beneath the stars.

As the Corroboree continued into the night, its embers burning low but steady, one thing was certain, those who had gathered here would never forget it. The land had spoken. The people had answered. And the future had paused for a moment to listen.

Part 35 ~ Next Morning

Lieutenant Emma Hayes awoke to the soft rustle of early morning wind moving through the desert scrub. The camp around her was quiet, save for the distant whirr of a cooling generator and the occasional crackle of embers from last night’s fire. The sky overhead was clear and soft blue, tinged with the pale gold of dawn.

For a moment, she just lay there, surprised by the unfamiliar lightness in her chest. Her thoughts drifted, not to operational checklists or equipment inventories, but to Tony Turner. Something about the way he’d smiled at her last night, that quiet understanding in his eyes… it wasn’t something she’d felt before. Not like this.

She blinked the thought away and sat up, brushing the dust from her sleeves. Duty would not wait.

Just then, a voice called out across the camp.

'Lieutenant Hayes!'

It was Sparks, the platoon’s comms technician, young, sharp, and always two steps ahead of the official briefing.

Emma turned toward him. 'What have you got?'

Sparks approached, tablet in hand. 'We’ve received word from Amberley. Three men are flying in this morning from one of the ministries, Home Affairs, probably, plus two ‘inspectors’ from Airservices Australia.'

He made air quotes around the word inspectors.

Emma raised an eyebrow. 'Airservices? Since when do they care about alien landings?'

'They don’t,' Sparks replied. 'It’s just a polite way of saying they’re from Pine Gap.'

Emma sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. 'So. Spies.'

'Spies with clipboards,' Sparks confirmed. 'And opinions.'

She stood, brushing down her uniform. 'All right. Let’s get them in. Play-time’s over. Now we’re down to serious, very serious, business.'

Sparks gave a lopsided grin. 'Do I tell PB-33 to put on a tie?'

'Tell PB-33 to smile less,' Emma said. 'That thing’s been grinning for three days straight.'

As she walked off toward the command tent, she cast a glance toward the still-sleeping bulk of the Starship. The desert around it looked calm, almost timeless.

But the peace wouldn’t last. The real show was about to begin.

Chapter Nine ~ Ministerial Talks

Part 36 ~ The Ministers Plus 2

The helicopter arrived just after breakfast, a standard transport chopper, dust-smeared and slightly overworked, skimming low across the desert scrub. It banked once over the town before setting course for the Starship site.

Inside sat three men from the ministry and two so-called inspectors from Airservices Australia. Their clipped phrasing, aviator sunglasses, and not-quite-right posture all but confirmed what everyone already suspected.

'Definitely American,' muttered one of the crewmen under his breath. 'They’ve got that Pine Gap walk.'

The trip to the landing site was just over 150 kilometres, but Zheimony came into view long before they arrived, impossible to miss.

'Is that it?' one of the men asked, leaning toward the window. 'All I can see is a blob with red navigation lights poking out.'

'I’ve got a clearer image,' said the one across from him, swiping open a file on a tablet. 'This was taken just after it landed.'

The others leaned in. There were a few low whistles, a muttered 'Well, I’ll be...' and one quiet moment of silence.

'Pilot,' said one of the inspectors, tapping his headset mic, 'can you give us a slow circuit before we land?'

'No problem,' the pilot replied. 'We’ve got a designated landing zone right near their front gate.'

The chopper dipped slightly, turning toward the strange, gleaming shape that dominated the desert floor.

Below, Zheimony waited in silence, massive, alien, and inexplicably polite.

Part 37 ~ The Ministers Embarrassed

The helicopter touched down in a swirl of dust and heat. As soon as the rotors slowed, the two inspectors from Airservices Australia disembarked without ceremony and set off around the back of the Starship, muttering something about flight vectors and hull contouring.

The three ministers were ushered toward a modest, prefabricated conference shed near the Starship’s perimeter. It looked like someone had assembled it in a hurry, which, in fact, they had. Inside, the temperature was cool, the lighting soft, and a small group of Xylosians waited silently.

One of them, the one in the centre, with that faintly amused expression the crew was beginning to recognise, stepped forward and smiled.

'Good morning, Ministers. You are here because Operation UFO has been activated. There is no need to introduce yourselves, we know who you are.'

There was a brief pause, then:

'We also know that what you think and what you say are often two different things.'

The ministers froze. The look of alarm, and faint offence, on their faces was almost comical.

The Xylosian continued smoothly.

'You should be aware that both we and the Starship can detect dishonesty. Immediately. And let’s be frank, politicians rank slightly below advertising executives in terms of public trust. And they rank just below used car salesmen.'

The silence that followed was thick enough to chew.

The ministers exchanged looks. They were used to being respected, or at least feared. This was something else entirely.

Eventually, one cleared his throat and spoke.

'Welcome to Australia,' he said carefully. 'How long do you… propose staying here?'

The central Xylosian inclined hir head.

'You are Justin Parker, Minister for Immigration, Citizenship and Multicultural Affairs. To answer your question, indefinitely. The Starship is designed to land only once. This is that landing.'

hir gestured behind hir.

'That ‘grey blob’, as you call it, can withstand a hydrogen bomb. Any attempt to remove us by force is pointless.'

Another silence. A beat longer this time.

'I’m Brandon Cooper, Minister for Home Affairs and Cyber Security,' the next man said, stiffly. 'Am I to assume nothing we do online is… secure?'

'That is correct, Brandon. Any digital system, internet, phone, radio, can be accessed. If it’s electronic, we can hear it.'

The third man looked uneasy but resolute.

'Angus Lewis, Minister for Emergency Management. There’s clearly an emergency. What can I do to assist?'

'We appreciate your concern, Angus. But all protocols were activated when Operation UFO commenced. You are now a… spectator.'

Justin Parker frowned. 'If you don’t want to work with politicians, who do you want to deal with?'

The Xylosian’s smile returned.

'We don’t dislike all politicians, Justin. We’ll provide you with a list of those we’re willing to communicate with, it’ll be included in a package we’re preparing.'

Hir paused to let the information sink in.

'We will only communicate with the Australian Government, and two media outlets, ABC and SBS. No foreign entities. No international media. This is a domestic matter.'

The ministers sat back, faces carefully neutral.

They had expected many things. But not this.

Part 38 ~ Dazed, Confused, and Offered Help

The atmosphere in the shed had shifted slightly, not quite friendly, but less brittle than before.

One of the Xylosians turned toward the ministers, hir tone now more conversational.

'Those two inspectors you arrived with… they’re in a bit of trouble.'

The ministers sat up straighter.

'One of them attempted to thrust a camera through the force field, presumably to get a better picture. The result was immediate: he was stunned. His colleague, showing admirable loyalty, if not judgement, tried to pull him out, and was likewise incapacitated, however a bot is retrieving them now. The ADF medic is on the way.'

The ministers looked alarmed.

'The film will be ruined, of course,' the Xylosian added, with just enough deadpan to be deliberate.

Everyone in the room, ministers included, smiled despite themselves.

The Xylosian’s voice softened slightly.

'We won’t let you go home empty-handed. This Starship was designed to construct an entire city. We can help solve your housing crisis.'

hir gestured out the window toward the ship.

'The robots aboard Zheimony can also assist with your labour shortage. In fact, we believe we can help resolve many of your so-called ‘immigration challenges’.

A document was produced, slim, official-looking, and already formatted for government eyes.

'We’ll send you back with this report. It outlines what we can do, how quickly, and what we’ll need in return. You might even get a commendation.'

The ministers stood slowly. The tone had changed, again. The aliens, it seemed, weren’t just here to stay.

They were offering help.

On that unexpectedly cheerful note, they were escorted back to the waiting helicopter.

The inspectors, now groggy and embarrassed, were already aboard.

Chapter Ten ~ Press Conference

Part 39 ~ Close Encounters, Xylosian Style

The afternoon sun bore silent witness to what would become one of the most extraordinary press conferences in human history.

Two large holographic screens had been positioned on either side of the hastily erected conference shed. A quiet buzz of anticipation crackled in the air as reporters gathered, clutching microphones, tablets, and tightly coiled nerves.

A message on-screen prompted:

'Please present to protocol-bots by 12:50 PM for connection test. Your bot will act as camera and microphone.'

Moments later, the voice of Zheimony followed:

'This is the test. Please state your name.'

'Thank you.'

At precisely 12:59 PM, a countdown began on both screens. Tension mounted with every tick.

When the clock struck 13:00, the holograms erupted into a dazzling display of swirling colour and cascading light. Tones, not quite musical, but unmistakably harmonious, accompanied the visual symphony. It was Zheimony’s welcome: pale red, golden orange, flashes of violet and white washing gently over the assembled crowd in waves.

A moment of awe.

Then came the voice.

'Good afternoon. My name is Captain Jhyren, and we represent the elders aboard the Starship. We come in peace.'

hir smiled graciously. Calm, composed, reassuring in an oddly familiar way.

'There are so many science fiction films that portray visiting aliens as hostile,' hir said dryly, 'we thought we’d start with a feel-good reference, a little musical greeting from Close Encounters of the Third Kind.'

The audience laughed. Some clapped.

Captain Jhyren gestured towards the bots. 'To ask a question, please wave to your protocol-bot and introduce yourself.'

The press conference began, a cascade of curiosity, awe, and cautious diplomacy.

Part 40 ~ Pressing Matters

'Hello, I’m Elena Morrow from ABC. Given your urgent circumstances, what immediate resources do you require from Earth to assist in your adaptation?'

'We are self-sufficient in medicine and food, thanks to our ship’s bioreactors. However, we’d appreciate access to certain structural materials, particularly titanium and aluminium, to aid with environmental integration.'

'Marcus Steele with SBS. Can you elaborate on the situation with your home planet and how it affects your future plans on Earth?'

'Our home planet has gone supernova. There is no way back. The Starship is now our permanent home. We’ve refitted it to function like a luxury hotel, and from here we’ll begin a careful cultural acclimatisation.'

'Hi, Samantha Voss from Seven. Are there any known threats on Earth we should be aware of to ensure mutual safety?'

'Our main concern is mutual protection from microbial exchange. We remain in permanent quarantine aboard the ship. As for misunderstandings, we hope to prevent them through transparent communication and community dialogue.'

'Ryan Treadwell, Nine Network. How do you plan to contribute to Earth while living aboard your ship?'

'We’re eager to explore cultural and scientific exchanges. While we cannot share advanced technologies, we can collaborate on sustainability, education, and health initiatives. We’re here to learn, not dominate.'

'Lila Chen, Network 10. How can Earth’s governments support you while you’re here?'

'We welcome collaboration, particularly with scientists and policymakers. We ask only for open dialogue, materials support, and a shared commitment to non-weaponisation.'

'Hi, Trent Callahan here. How do you plan to navigate potential cultural misunderstandings?'

'We believe in mutual learning. We’ll share our own traditions and welcome the chance to understand yours. Misunderstandings are inevitable, but respect makes them surmountable.'

'Kira Navarr from The Galactic Gazette. So, what do you look like?'

A pause. Then a smile.

'Well, our appearance may remind you of the lizard lady from Doctor Who. Shimmering skin, expressive eyes, the full ‘alien vibe.’ But rest assured, we bring no plans for world domination. Our designs lean more toward friendship and long-term cohabitation.'

'Isaac Wilder, Interstellar Times. How are you adapting to Earth’s environment?'

'We remain healthy thanks to our systems. But we’re committed to learning about your ecosystems so we can adjust respectfully, and avoid ecological disruption.'

'Haley Cortez, Cosmic News Network. What are your long-term plans while you remain on Earth?'

'To engage, from a respectful distance. To form partnerships. To learn. We hope to launch collaborative projects that benefit both cultures, all while maintaining peace and scientific integrity.'

'Davin Brooks, Global Insight. What does alien contact mean for humanity now?'

'This moment presents a rare chance for unity. A chance to rise above borders and divisions. Alien contact is not a threat, it’s an invitation to grow together.'

The press conference ended not with ceremony, but with a gentle hum of voices, rising questions, and private promises of one-on-one interviews to come.

Earth’s visitors had landed, and the conversation had only just begun.

Chapter Eleven~ Work In Progress

Part 41 ~ The To-Do List

The meeting had barely begun when Procurement Officer Jrell broke the silence.

'Well,' hir said, folding hir arms, 'we’ve made a lot of promises.'

A few nods circled the room.

'Now,' Procurement Officer Jrell added dryly, 'we just have to find the materials to keep them.'

The group sat in a circle, think tank members, technical leads, and a smattering of logistics bots humming quietly in the background.

'The town itself’s got a Tidy Town plaque,' said one of the planners. 'But even tidy towns have to dump their rubbish somewhere.'

'I checked the satellite imagery,' someone added. 'There’s a rubbish dump just outside the township, packed with old vehicles, tyres, scrap metal, timber. You name it.'

'And there are abandoned buildings too,' said another. 'Some of them just rotting quietly in the sun. Doors, window frames, corrugated roofing, plenty of salvageable material.'

'Let’s not forget,' added Procurement Officer Jrell, 'we’re literally sitting on iron ore. If we need steel, we can make it.'

The room brightened. Practical optimism had replaced theoretical diplomacy.

'Right then,' said Procurement Officer Jrell. 'Let’s look at the to-do list.'

A projection blinked on.

• Dedicated video conferencing facility

• Extraterrestrial liaison office

• Barracks for ADF troops

• Secure communications hub

• Emergency landing beacon

• Firebreak and quarantine buffer

'Is that all?' someone muttered. 'I thought there was more.'

'We’re trying to be modest,' Procurement Officer Jrell replied.

Captain Jhyren turned to the town planners.

'Can you work with what we’ve got?'

The lead planner nodded. 'Yes, but we’d like to propose something bigger. The townsfolk are living in substandard housing, mostly leftover shacks from the old railway stop. No insulation. No airflow. They deserve better.'

'Do you have group consensus?'

A ripple of hands went up.

'You have agreement,' said Captain Jhyren. 'Begin drafting a relocation plan. Engage the locals with respect, ask, don’t tell.'

'What about power?' someone asked.

'The town’s on the Alice Springs grid,' replied a bot, projecting a simple map. 'Stability is… mixed.'

'We can improve that,' said a systems engineer. 'Solar. Battery. Supplement with backup generation. Start small. Build up.'

'And communication?'

'We’ll upgrade the satellite dish and piggyback on existing networks. Minimal disruption.'

The meeting settled into a rhythm. Ideas flowed. Resources were listed. Teams were formed.

Plans were becoming reality.

Part 42 ~ Where’s There Muck There’s Money

The area for kilometres around the Starship become spruce as the robots collected old cars and junk and removed piles of old tyres and re-cycled just about everything from the rubbish dumps. Abandoned dwellings had their doors and windows carefully restored and all the building material re-cycled.

It didn’t take long before there were more robots than people in the town. The new dedicated video conferencing facility and extraterrestrial office was a handsome building demolished and rebuilt along the road. There was a direct link to the Starship and a satellite link to government offices in Canberra.

The traditional owners were consulted and a complex built to their express requirements. Their old homes were re-furbished for any new-comers.

Epilogue

Echoes of the Supernova

As twilight deepened across the Red Centre, the Starship Zheimony stood peacefully under the southern sky, its red beacons blinking like distant hearts. Within its walls, conversations continued, some diplomatic, some scientific, some as simple as shared meals and quiet laughter.

Though Earth’s governments jostled behind the scenes, the Elders of the land had already offered the first, and most enduring, welcome.

Inside Zheimony’s common room, Captain Jhyren looked out through the transparent bulkhead at the stars above, strange constellations, yet somehow familiar now.

'We have touched down,' hir murmured, 'but our journey is far from over.'

Zheimony's calm voice responded from the walls. 'There are anomalies still unresolved. I have detected subtle spatial distortions nearby, faint echoes of the supernova event. They may not be natural.'

Captain Jhyren turned. 'Prepare a report. Tomorrow, we explore further.'

And with that, the curtain quietly fell on the first chapter of the Xylosians’ arrival.

But the land beneath them still whispered ancient stories, and the sky above held secrets yet to be uncovered.

To be continued…