Category: Fiction

Just a bunch of weird flavor (heh) for Abyssal Joy. May add/remove some of this later.

Abyssal Joy camouflaged himself in the asteroid belt. On sensors, and on sight he appeared as just another chunk of space rock. As long as he didn’t make a lot of noise, he could stay hidden forever. That was not the plan of course.

AJ’s consciousness went inward. He opened his eyes, now with attention focused through his avatar. He loved spending time with his guests. That was how he thought of them, he is a house, and the members of the crew were his guests.

Early intelligence reports from this earth included a book from a secondhand shop. The image showed a plastic spiral binding, with an image of a church in the center of a yellow cover. Beneath the image it read “Recipes & More from the First Methodist Church of Bremen, GA”. It included a lot of recipes, but also a section on “How to be a good hostess.” AJ used several of the tips to improve crew welfare. At first, he wasn’t sure how some tips applied – like how to hide your husband’s poor turkey carving. Then one of the Cecaelian crew members – Nirvek – tried to cook a meal for the few Corvus crew members. Corvus have incredibly specific etiquette regarding the pouring of sauces or gravy. Left to right, in a zig zag pattern, is acceptable. Right to left in a curving motion can turn the stomach of some more sensitive Corvus. Remembering the turkey carving, AJ performed a magic trick that included a lot of sparkles – something a Corvus couldn’t help but pay attention to. Nirvek’s faux pas went unnoticed, and AJ kindly informed him of the proper way at a later time.

Nirvek invited AJ to share a meal as a thank you for his help. AJ tried not to think deeply about eating. He loved eating, but he was always aware that everything he ate was generated, from him, and went back into him, in an indirect way. He gave his avatar taste buds to experience meals fully, but he had his own digestive tract, so building a secondary one felt a bit absurd. A few hours after a meal he would go to a private room he created for himself (at Quinn’s insistence that he required his own personal quarters) and reabsorb his avatar for a while.

Once he tried to develop a form of taste buds on his actual body. He thought it would be amazing to see what space tastes like. His biology allows him to absorb a mixture of light, space krill, and various elements from space debris found around any planetary system. All of this tastes like burnt metal, with a hint of iodine. AJ’s disappointment caused a 10 second brown out. The crew were, understandably, concerned. Quinn was furious, so AJ was unprepared for the cackle she released upon hearing his explanation.

AJ was a member of the crew. If another crew member caused this issue there would be consequences. AJ was put in charge of cleaning matter disintegrators for a week. It didn’t really bother him, and seemed to gain him a few friends among the crew. Seeing him treated similarly to how they would be was reassuring. More people saw him as one of them, especially in his now Human avatar.

The first sentient ship born was a marvel of science, considered one of the greatest achievements in the history of sentient life. The observation deck was packed. Surveys at the time revealed observers found it a bit boring. Visually fascinating, but the silence of the domed observatory was dull.

Thus, foley was added starting with the second birth. It wasn’t perfect, but was generally received better. The fanfare had only increased for every birth since.

Over the past few years several shops had opened kiosks at the back of the deck serving various finger foods. This week a circle of bars appeared mid deck. LUMA hired a few drink and vapor servers to provide complimentary liquid and gas refreshments.

Banners hung from the ceiling, carefully placed to avoid obstructing anyone’s view. They advertised some local shops, and more than a few suggested the reader should become a member of the LUMA Carbon Branch Corps, or LCBC. An acronym within an acronym. How delightfully bureaucratic.

Hundreds of people milled about, seeking the best viewing spot. The ticketed seats at the front of the auditorium were already filled, mostly by paid space holders. Citizens wealthy or important enough to acquire those seats were not going to show up this early. Others had various types of folding seats, picnic blankets, and many simply stood. The whole evac portion of the event would take less than an hour.

Comms Manager Mel crackled over the speakers. “Welcome all – both LUMA Station citizens and visitors from afar – to the birth of the ninth and largest LUMA built sentient ship!” Cheers erupted. “To count us down we have the assigned Ambassador to take this ship on its mission to recruit new worlds! I’m glad to introduce Ambassador Quinn!”

The next voice was smooth, decidedly Cecaelian. “Thank you all for joining us on this historic day. Let us countdown together, to welcome our new friend into the universe.” A pause followed. Quinn held her breath, worried they had started too early, or perhaps she spoke too quickly. Within seconds of these intrusive thoughts the signal to begin countdown arrived.

“Ten. Nine.”

A bright light appeared at the top of the vat. The audience watched as the light descended through the mostly opaque liquid before disappearing.

The sound of a gong blared over the speakers when the photonic was absorbed by the being encased inside.

“Eight. Seven.”

The vat’s evacuation panel peeled away from the gel contained within.

SCHLUUUUP!

The audience gasped. “Six.”

The liquid inside had turned into a thick gelatin. The inside walls of the vat heated up, reliquefying at the sides to help the ship slide through the open panel. It was impossible to tell what the ship looked like through this thick, orangey substance. It began to move quicker, assisted by the being inside.

“Five. Four.”

The cube of gelatin was now free floating in space, remnants of the liquid clinging to the now clear walls of the vat. Everything was going smoothly.

“Three. Two.”

The block began shaking, vibrating. A hum filled the observation deck – it was decidedly not from the speakers.

“One.”

The gelatin suddenly melted as if super heated. It seemed to be expelled from the ship inside, now floating around between the station and the ship as several liquid orange orbs. One of the vendors inside quickly scratched through the name of an orange beverage on his menu and crudely wrote “SENTIENT SHIP JUICE” underneath. Quinn witnessed this on a security feed next to Mel and rolled her eyes. Ridiculous and disgusting, she thought. It would go on to become the most popular beverage in a decade.

During this viewing the panel slowly slid back shut. Large hoses were dispersed to collect the orange liquid. While it could not be reused scientists were able to study it. This liquid contained some of the ship’s DNA, and information gathered would contribute to the creation and birth of the next ship.

The audience sat in silent awe, even those who had witnessed the birth of this one’s older siblings. Previous ships were based on the various types of nautilus that were found in the early evolutionary stages of most planets with carbon based life. This one was no different in that respect.

Perhaps it was the huge scale, perhaps it was the pearl-like coating on the shell that caught the light and created a mesmerizing rainbow effect. Or perhaps it was the soft, transparent dome that came together with tentacles to fill the shell’s opening. A few zoombots were deployed to give audience members a close up view of the features of this new creature.

Inside the dome appeared to be the bridge of the ship. At the center sat a captain’s chair, surrounded by work stations. For now it seemed quite plain, the work stations would be altered to fit the biology of whatever species ended up working at it.

One of the zoombots aligned itself directly in front of the bridge, flashing a pattern of lights at it. This signaled it to open its cargo bay. The tentacles at the bottom began to separate. The membrane between each tentacle created a webbing effect. A spate of “wows” and “beautifuls” were heard around the observation deck.

The tentacles only had suction cups at the end, for grabbing stray objects or out of control shuttles. The parts further in were made to bellow out, creating a cargo bay that could host any shape of ship, with any atmosphere requirements. The zoombot inside began testing various atmospheres. The skin of the tentacles, up to the edges of the dome, undulated with a variety of colors. Yellow and red for a sulfur based atmosphere, blues and whites for oxygen and nitrogen. A multitude of small tests like this were technically required, but put on more for show than practicality.

“HELLO” the zoombot, and the audience heard very loudly. Eyes darted, people began looking around for guidance. This had never happened before.

From the management office Quinn looked at Mel, who shrugged her shoulders. She glanced back at her father – Admiral Quinnvat – who made a motion encouraging her to speak.

“Mel, is there a speaker I can access through the Zoombot?” Mel nodded, picking up on the idea, and began punching buttons.

“Should be good now, ma’am.” Mel confirmed. “You will be heard by both the ship and the observation deck. I’ve also reduced the incoming volume.”

Quinn cleared her throat and held down the ‘speak’ button. “Hello there.” Calm, correct. Quinn took a deep breath as she awaited the response.

“Oh I am so glad to be here! Will you be my friend? What is this place? It is so big and you are all so tiny. I wish to be like my new friends!” This communication was heard at a mercifully lower, more appropriate volume.

Quinn nodded at Mel with approval before returning to this unexpected dialogue. “We are also quite pleased with your arrival. My name is Quinn, and I will be your friend. We will be traveling together very soon. We have an important tradition here – a naming ceremony.”

“Oh what fun, a name? I hadn’t considered a name before. I don’t think I considered anything before this. What should I be named?”

This was unheard of. Previous ships did not talk like this. They barely spoke at all. They communicated, but it was rather dry. Some captains and ambassadors had mentioned their ships spoke to them telepathically, but this was clearly open. To everyone. What kind of ship had she been assigned to? The naming ceremonies usually asked the ranking officer to name the ship, but how could you assign a name to something like this? Without its input?

“Well, typically we give your kind a name, but as you are being so,” Quinn considered her words, “open with us today I’d love to hear any ideas you have to name yourself.”

To the disbelief of witnesses, the ship did a backflip. Slowly, like one would in water. “Oh what joy! Oh I like that word. JOY. I could be Mister Joy!” Some grumbling was heard among the audience. It was a shocking statement. As far as anyone knew, these ships didn’t express a concept of gender.

“I think you could probably drop the mister, seems a bit formal for you.” Quinn said, beginning to loosen up a little. This could be a fun challenge.

“Ah how about something that reflects me? My greatest ancestors were ocean dwellers. I am destined for the depths of space. I will be known as ‘Abyssal Joy’!” Cheers erupted. This was a well received name.

Quinn smiled, glad to have gotten through this ritual with minimal embarrassment. “Alright Abyssal Joy, let’s get to work.”

Parties followed. Station security let some things slide that normally would get you thrown in the brig for a few days. It was a celebration, after all.

Abyssal Joy performed another first. He created an avatar of himself. It appeared on the bridge shortly after naming. A zoombot flew around it and he waved excitedly at it. This avatar was plain, lacking identifiers that would mark him as any known species. His skin undulated with color the way the ship did. He had all the basics. A head, two upper appendages and two lower, and a tail that reached his feet. Everything was very smoothed out. No toes or flippers, just domed discs to keep him upright. His head was smooth and round, no real facial features to speak of. Arms ended in rudimentary hands that included a thumb and two thick fingers. At first when he spoke the sound emanated from him, rather than directed at someone. This improved with practice.

AJ, as he became known, was immensely popular on the station. While he could not leave his actual body he regularly invited station residents to come visit as they were finalizing preparations to leave dock. Children were the most interesting to AJ. They were even smaller than the adults! How shocking! And they were so interested in him and everything about him. He promised to bring them back new snacks and treats from the “Earth” planet they had been assigned to for their first mission.

The day before the crew were due to arrive Quinn asked AJ’s avatar to come to her office. “AJ, I have a request that you may not enjoy.”

“Oh I doubt that Ambassador! I have enjoyed every new experience I’ve had so far!” AJ beamed. He meant it too.

Quinn sighed. “Unfortunately some of the incoming crew find the idea of working with you, well, concerning. They have served on your siblings’ ships and only spoken to them via their captain, not directly to any kind of avatar like this.” Quinn grimaced. She worried AJ would feel hurt, or unwanted.

AJ nodded. “Oh,” he said. “Would you want me to deactivate my avatar for the duration of our journey?” His voice – now directed appropriately with the addition of a mouth – cracked a little.

Quinn’s heart sank. “Oh AJ, I would never ask that of you. I just hoped maybe, since the crew is mostly Cecaelian like me, you may customize your avatar to be a bit like us. Is that something within your capabilities?” She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for AJ’s disappointment.

She opened them just in time to see AJ begin laughing. “Ambassador, this is one of the reasons I wanted to have an avatar! Let me do some work creating a figure, and I will get back to you!” AJ got up but stopped in the doorway.

“Would you, perhaps” AJ looked away, pretending to pick at a spot on the door frame, “maybe want to have a meal with my new avatar. I’ve finished growing the cafeteria and the new matter replicators were dropped off yesterday.” Unbeknownst to Quinn, AJ had his own squint-and-brace moment.

“Sure AJ, I’d love to. We can discuss final details for tomorrow’s arrivals. Go over some personnel files. I’ll see you in a couple hours.” She returned to reviewing a report and sipping a to-go cup of “SENTIENT SHIP JUICE”. It was actually rather pleasant.

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One year earlier at LUMA Headquarters

The vat was unimaginably large. Larger than any ship, even the blobs of seemingly nothing photonics used to travel in groups. It could only be viewed in its entirety by distant ship, or by standing here – on the observation deck of the LUMA space station. The space station, along with the construction vat, orbited a shockingly small gas giant. Scientists referred to it as Gaseous Impossibilius. It could never exist naturally, it was a custom planet built by the Silicon Branch.

This was meant to be a place where each of the three branches – Carbon, Silicate, and Photonic – could intermingle and communicate. The space station was built to host Carbons. At any given time there were an average of two million Carbon life forms on board. Sharing and learning from one another. Trying the latest dishes from newly recruited worlds. Many lived their entire lives aboard the station, some shorter-lived species already had generations of children in the few hundred years the station had been functional. Some silicates also lived aboard the station, mostly for research and administrative purposes. Every few decades a Photonic would deign to visit the lowly Carbons, taking a form they can comprehend before they ascend. Today was one of those days. Today was the birth of a new intelligent life form.

“Are you prepared, Ambassador?” Quinn was stirred from her reverie, observing her future colleague in the vat completing its final growth stage. The figure next to her was certainly shaped like another Cecaelian. Unlike Quinn and other Cecaelians this person had a slight glow to their skin, a literal illumination. Luma indeed thought Quinn.

She straightened a bit, taking a few deep breaths to keep her skin from revealing her anxiety. Cecaelians were mostly able to control the vast variety of colors their epidermis could display, but heightened emotions made it more difficult. “I am ready, we must all start somewhere, mustn’t we?” She turned her head to look her colleague directly in the eye, or what passed for eyes. “What name are you going by today?”

“We are a member of the PECO. Are you familiar?” they rasped. Quinn’s very real eyes widened.

“Am I familiar with the Photonic Entities of Class Omega?” Quinn let out a hiccup beneath her mouth flap – the Cecaelian version of a snort. “Yes, your luminousness, I am quite familiar. We were taught LUMA Universal History in primary school.” She turned to fully face the entity, the revelation causing her curiosity to outweigh her anxiety.

“I always assumed the PECO had faded away a long time ago.” Photonics did not like the Silicate and Carbon concept of death. They didn’t feel it applied to what they did. It was written into LUMA by-laws that Photonics do not die – they fade away.

“Most of us have. This is a final step for this one. We do not want to fade away, We want to become something different. When next we speak, I will be with you, but I will not remember this conversation, nor anything else about our previous life. We have left a private communication in your office. Once you complete your first mission we ask you to deliver it to…” they seemed to stumble, struggling with the correct phrasing, “…deliver it to me.”

Quinn nodded in acknowledgement. She didn’t quite understand this process. Photonics were still gods to many Carbon based life forms. Even those who didn’t view them as gods were appropriately afraid of them. They could take a physical form, but regardless of species it was always rather obvious. Long before Quinn was born the Photonic Branch, in a rare spark of creativity, brought an idea to the Silicate and Carbon branches for approval. After billions of years many Photonics – some of the oldest beings in the universe – were growing tired. They did not want to fade away, but they did want to experience things differently.

They knew the Carbons had issues with travel. Their bodies were so frail, their lives so short. The best they had managed for deep space travel was uploading their consciousness to a computer upon death. Often entire species would transition into a silicate species, just to survive the vast distances and time required for interstellar exploration.

The Photonics suggested a collaboration. Sentient, massive living ships. The spark of sentience would be provided by a Photonic. The Carbons and Silicates would work together to build the construction vat. Station residents jokingly referred to it as “space womb”. The chamber itself took hundreds of years to construct.

During that time agreements were made among the three LUMA branches. Photonics – by choice – would not retain the memories of their past lives. These sentient ships would have some small amount of programming to keep them from going rogue while other beings were residing inside of them. All agreed the ship must have the ability to create a believable avatar of any LUMA affiliated species. With the inclusion of some Silicate technology (the programming, which required cybernetics) the Carbons wanted to insure a part of their legacy would also be included in the ship’s growth cycle. One of the Photonics noted that nearly every Carbon planet had some kind of nautilus variant early in their planet’s history. Photonics loved spirals, the shape of the nautilus shell appealed to them. The living ships would include a spark of light, a few liquid chips for programming, and a little bit of terrestrial and space-based organic DNA. All parties were satisfied.

Eight total sentient vessels have been born, each one grown faster than the previous. Only one other ship has been born during Quinn’s lifetime. The ship in the vat now has only taken twenty two years to reach maturity. The last one took over fifty. These are blinks in the lives of Silicates and Photonics, but lifetimes to most Carbons. Leadership of the other branches spend a great deal of time reminding new Carbon leaders that the project is worth the wait.

They stood silently together, observing the fixer bots flying around the vat, making small repairs and updates. Preparing for birth.

The PECO member turned towards Quinn. They looked dimmer. Quinn realized for the first time the being was a bit short, skinny by Cecaelian standards. “Well,” they started, heaving a great sigh. Wonder who taught you how to do that, Quinn pondered.

“I think my time has come. I must away to the antechamber to prepare for ascension.” Before Quinn could respond the being faded into a trillion points of light and phased through the window. She could just make out a light cloud moving towards the top of the vat.

An announcement blared over the station speakers. The overly chipper voice of Comms Manager Mel chirped, “Vat evacuation in one hour. Please make your way to the forward LUMA observation deck to witness this once in a life time event!” A pause, the sound of Mel grumbling to someone in the background, then very quickly added, “AlsoAmbassadorQuinnwillyoupleasereporttoSystemOps? Thanks!”

Quinn smoothed her head tendrils and shook her appendages, changing her skin to match the LUMA uniform colors and pattern. She then twisted her tentacles into two spiraled limbs, creating legs, of a sort. A trick she learned to make herself seem more serious to the less flexible Carbons. Should have known he wouldn’t let me leave without getting the last word, she thought as she headed towards the admin level.

The first alliance of sentient life in the universe emerged from photonic beings. This alliance consisted of four species, each hailing from different nebulae shortly after the big bang. It is thought these first four were potentially the originators of all types of life in the universe. They were the first entities with a sense of self and a curiosity about the universe around them.

Originally they called themselves the League of Light. The founding members were The Luminary, The Collective, The First, and The Final. For all their wisdom, photonics had a flair for the dramatic. Over the first billion years several hundred new groups joined them, until finally they met the PECO (Photonic Entities of Class Omega). The PECO were eager to join, and among the first potential members hailing from a single-star solar system instead of a stellar nursery. Their lonely star had a collection of debris (later known as “planets”, “moons” and “gas giants”) caught in its orbit.

Most strange of all was the PECO’s insistence on only joining the League if their system’s co-inhabitants were also welcome. The founders had encountered silicates (silicon-based lifeforms) previously, but nothing as advanced as this species. The silicates the PECO cohabitated with called themselves the Senti. The entirety of the League of Light had never encountered anything like them. The Final found them grotesque, while The Luminary spent centuries with the PECO learning how to communicate with these bizarre new lifeforms. They were so limited. They could travel between star systems but at significantly slower speeds. Though capable of experiencing non-linear events they resolutely chose to live linearly. Some of them even had carbon-based companions – short-lived, unintelligent, but loyal creatures the silicates doted on. Every new fact made them more mysterious and odd.

The PECO and Senti’s application took half a billion years for the League of Light to discuss and debate. Though they existed at light speed, their bureaucracy moved like it was trapped in a black hole. During this time more silicate species were found in other systems. The waitlist for membership grew so long it forced the founders into action. In the time it took for the founders to settle on a decision entire civilizations rose and fell. They did not yet understand how finite other forms of life – even silicate life – could be. The only existence the photonics understood was an immortal one. Ultimately it was decided that The League of Light must evolve as an organization to handle this new understanding of sentience. Two branches were created for the two types of sentience now acknowledged. Nothing would ban one from communicating with the other, but silicate issues would be handled and managed by silicate leadership, and photonic by photonic. The Collective and The Final, having never truly accepted the Senti or later silicates as actually “alive”, would continue as leaders of the Photonic Branch.¹ Meanwhile The Luminary and The First would help establish the new Silicate Branch, acting as ambassadors between their realities. The Senti were the first silicates officially welcomed as members in this new organization.

On the outskirts of the PECO and Senti’s home system, in the clouds of gas giant A-34-QZ, silicate League of Light members came together to build what would come to be known as The Conference Center. Silicon and Photonic lifeforms typically have a poor grasp on the concept of subtlety. Having communicated with one another in isolation for millennia, the Senti and the PECO had developed a technology that converts Photonic light into an organized form, a hologram. The Photonic could choose the form of any League of Light species to imitate, though any identifying features would be randomized. Even silicates have their vanity and did not like the idea of someone copying their exact specifications. Photonic beings did not understand the need for this until experiencing the constraint of being an “individual.” Some truly embraced this existence, finding this to be the first novel thing they’d experienced in millions of years.

Smaller versions of The Conference Center began popping up in almost every League of Light member system. As these two lifeforms found commonality, more spaces were built to host photonics, and eventually technologies were invented that allowed silicates to experience photonic life in small amounts. Experience changed both branches at a core level. After the first million years together, League of Light members – by a large majority – insisted the founders come together and create a new name. Thus, The League of Artificial life and Light,² or LAL was born.

¹Appendix A: Biography of Photonic Origins (author’s note: to-be-written)

²Much to the chagrin of the Founders, this name would evolve again in a short two or three hundred million years. See Chapter 2.

Quinn stared at the porcelain cup AJ set on her desk. Steam was coming off the top. She peered into it. Beige with a white foam on top, applied in some kind of design. It reminded her of the lowland palms of her home world.

“Another Human nutrient?” she said, not taking her eyes off the cup. She went to pick it up but AJ motioned for her to stop.

“Ah, the cup itself is hot, Ambassador, use the little handle. It is very quaint.”

Quinn lifted the cup to her mouth. It smelled earthy and sweet. “They call it a vanilla latte. There are many varieties of other drinks made with this bean.” AJ informed her as she sipped.

“This is quite delicious, AJ! Any side effects we should be aware of?” Even as she was saying it, she felt her heart rate speeding up a bit. Nothing concerning, but worthy of note when uploaded.

“For Humans and other mammals on this Earth it can have a slight laxative effect, but mostly it delivers caffeine, which makes humans feel more awake and alert. Most of them do not get enough sleep. It is a known, legally and socially acceptable drug across the entire planet.” AJ smiled, well-AJ’s avatar smiled.

“Another thing I’d like to share with you, Quinn.” AJ said, averting his gaze.

Quinn was surprised, AJ rarely spoke informally. AJ was a new intelligent ship. His name was one he chose himself upon awaking with sentience. Abyssal Joy. For daily briefings he created an avatar of himself to interact with the crew. The majority of the crew were Cecaelians, like Quinn, so the avatar AJ created was that of a plain, but pleasant Cecaelian.

“Since we’re so close to this Earth we’ve begun to get more biological and physical data about the intelligent species there. As you know, this form is simply for your comfort. I thought perhaps I should make a ‘human’ form for any new guests we pick up. As you have the largest breadth of knowledge involving this group I was hoping you would look me over? Make any suggestions?” He nervously fidgeted the ends of his tentacles.

Quinn smiled. AJ was so cute when he was nervous. “Of course AJ, please go ahead.”

AJ let out a sigh, “Oh good, yes so, I figure this should just be another me, but the human version, yeah?” AJ spun in place, slowly dissolving into a cloud of mist. The mist dissipated and a much smaller shape seemed to absorb the mist into itself. Quinn didn’t understand the biology behind it, but felt it would be rude to inquire. He was approximately 175 centimeters tall. Beige, much like the latte he brought her. His form was trim, perhaps a little more muscular than the average human, based on the data she had reviewed.

Quinn floated around him. AJ was beaming, “So, what do you think? Do you like it?”

Once she had come back around to his front she leaned back, looking him up and down. “It is so strange seeing one like this. Could beings so tiny really create the dishes we’ve had?” Quinn pondered aloud.

AJ’s face fell a bit, he was hoping for more excitement. He contained his disappointment (though, having never conversed with a human before, Quinn wouldn’t have noticed anyways). “Oh, well we do scale new recipes for different LUMA member’s diets. Most humans would not drink a latte as large as the one I gave you earlier.” Quinn glanced at what she thought had been a very reasonably sized – if not rather small – cup of liquid.

“I see,” she replied, and moved back to her desk for another sip. “I have a feeling this is going to be quite popular in the LUMA colonies. Be sure to upload the recipe as soon as possible, these are the types of discoveries that get us more interesting missions. Humans may be a bit dull in other respects but their food is getting this recruitment high on the radars of our higher ups. Any positive contributions can only help our success.”

“I’ll take care of it immediately,” AJ said and turned to leave.

“Oh, and one more thing AJ,” he turned back half way through the door frame. “I think you should keep that form for the rest of the trip when interacting with the crew. It will get them accustomed to humans. Let’s also go ahead and integrate their gravity requirements as soon as we have final numbers so we can all acclimate to the new average.”

AJ smiled, glad to finally have his hard work acknowledged. “Will do, ambassador.”

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