“There it is,” said Umar as he wiped condensation from the ship’s viewport.

Audible gasps from other Pioneers could be heard throughout the large gallery. This marked the end of a lifetime aboard the Onward vessel. With a jolt, Umar removed himself from the large porthole and was quickly replaced by another expectant viewer.

 

Once back at his spartan station, Umar loosened his jaw and nodded to the other comm engineers. The gesture not merely acknowledged the significance of the moment, but also served as notice of the need to breach Onward etiquette. The ancient commands were developed in those early ambitious years and still utilized Terran English. The primitive language required sound to carry audibly over wide open distances. Modern language sounded more clipped and gestural to suit the confined ship.

 

“Ready there, Jabberman?” asked Captain Bren from Lander one.

 

Umar intuitively shook his head as he vocalized his reply. “Another cycle in the office now.” He straightened in his chair to begin.

 

Summoning a stiff authoritarian tone, Umar opened the channel to the three planet-bound vessels. “All landers. Status check.” The command triggered a cascade of eager responses.

 

“Lander one, checks complete. Set for launch,” Bren responded.

 

“Lander two, set,” came a female voice.

 

“Lander three is prepared for launch,” said a third, somewhat over-pronounced.

 

Umar raised his palms to silence the anxious tapping from the other comms stations. “Release in three, two, one, launch,” his voice quavered on the last with unexpected emotion.

 

Umar’s leg started to twitch as the landers’ thrusters pulsed in descent. The video playing throughout the ship was now the sole focus of all passengers and crew. Comms went silent for a time. The ship had never been so quiet.

 

The comms crackled to life. “Onward, we have landed,” said Bren triumphantly. Umar gasped for breath as he shot back in his chair, raising both hands. Then for the first time in his lifetime, he heard a triumphant roar throughout the ship as Pioneers witnessed an ancestral dream come true. The comm station was engulfed in emotions. Some wept, some laughed, and others embraced.

 

* * *

 

On the surface, Captain Bren stepped out of the lander and looked off into the distance at a frigid expanse of brown rock. He stopped suddenly as the surface to the southwest of the lander started to shake.

 

“Got movement,” said Bren as he froze, fist upraised. “Tectonic?”

 

“No tectonics,” came Umar’s response. “Lemme see, ya?”

 

The helmet cam ceased sweeping to hold focus on the parting surface. Umar noticed shadows bracketing the Captain as Pioneers huddled together defensively. The cam lowered slightly as the unarmed Captain bent his knees and widened his stance.

 

Silently, three squat figures sprung from the fault, landing simultaneously in one economic leap. Behind them followed another wave of seven jolting humanoid figures. They were covered from head to toe with a tactile green canvas-like covering.

 

The initial three moved forward in movements that seemed to skip frames. The second rank lurching forward in disciplined response. The unexpected inhabitants came to a halt in dangerous unison.

 

Bren’s words seemed to slip out unexpectedly. “Contact.”

 

* * *

 

Umar had to lower the volume on the mics to hear Bren over the sputtering chorus of respiration. He stared through the feed at the shapes, his right foot jiggling restlessly.

 

Now only a few meters from the Pioneers, Umar observed the aliens, hoping to discern some mode of communication for the frozen landing party. “Humanoid… No eye holes… pale hands and feet bare… subterranean… ” Umar could see the dull green clothing appeared to be some sort of lichen. The mossy texture covered the entirety of the short, wide bodies.

 

“Copy, Jabberman,” Bren said, his helmet cam panning in sync. “Here goes.”

 

Without advancing, Bren switched on his external speaker. He raised both hands above his head, palms out. “Hello,” he said with forced warmth hiding his unease.

 

The two formed ranks made no sign of understanding. All ten stood unflinching, as if they had not heard the attempt. Across the barren rock the landing party remained silent in anxious anticipation.

 

After what seemed an age, the central figure slid one bare foot behind itself, dragging his toe from one side to the other. The ranks moved into a semi-circle around the group of pioneers. Aggressive stomps answered the call in a successive wave. The reverberations reached the Pioneers underfoot.

 

“About to be rushed, ya?” Bren’s whisper broke the haunting silence.

 

Umar’s leg stopped fidgeting as he caught what could be a pattern. Inhaling sharply as the centermost figure lifted his foot. He noticed the coverings had no visible eye or ear holes.

 

“No eyes, bare feet, stomping,” Umar said, his mind racing to determine an appropriate response.

 

“Finding a pattern may be life or death here,” said Bren with some urgency. “Needin’ more, ya?”

 

The figure at the center stomped once. The semi-circle stood perfectly still, all holding in that slight crouch.

 

Umar’s volume exploded, “Stomp once each now like them, ya?”

 

“Eh?” said Bren.

 

“One time each.” Umar’s mic roared, “Now!”

 

Bren counted down with his fingers, not quite able to grasp the pattern Umar had identified. He extended his index finger to start the cascade. The wave of single stomps rippled inwards to Bren. He paused and then stomped once in finality.

 

Motionless for a time, the two groups stood facing each other. Finally, the centermost figure stomped once in return. The alien semi-circle turned, making a lane towards the fault with exaggeratedly resonant footfalls.

 

“Jabberman, I don’t know what that was, but… ” Bren said breathily, sounding relieved.

 

Umar took a deep breath and leaned back, watching as the Pioneers cautiously entered the opening.