There were already sentient beings living here when we arrived. It was not our fault. We had run every test before we left home. We detected nothing of note; no signs of intelligent life. It was a shock to wake from cryorest in our new solar system we had thought was empty, only to be bombarded with messages we couldn’t understand from creatures we hadn’t known existed.

 

They threatened our ships with projectiles launched from the planet’s surface; clearly warning shots. We took refuge behind the planet’s nearby natural satellite. The threat shook us, but Grand Leader was calm. We were trespassers, she reminded us, however accidental. A colony fleet must look very much like an invasion.

 

The uncertainty persisted, and we waited. Our survival depended on peaceful negotiations with the Earthlings—theirs was the only inhabitable planet we could hope to reach. So we studied them as well as we could from orbit. Imagery showed five-toed bipedals of varied hues and attire, but we could not find a consistent, complete explanation for the differences. We also had difficulty finding predictable patterns of movement. However their network functioned, we concluded, it must be extremely complex.

 

Nearly a hundred rotations of the planet elapsed before Grand Leader was invited planetside. We waited three additional rotations for Grand Leader’s return, murmurs of fear growing in our mind from the separation. What if we were refused refuge? What if Grand Leader never returned? What if the natives allowed us to land, only to slaughter or imprison us—or dissect us? When we talked about the separation later, we agreed: This had been a turning point.

 

“The natives are aware this is an important moment in our civilizations’ history,” Grand Leader assured us at a general address when she returned. “They will not attack unless provoked.”

 

“When can we go planetside?” we asked.

 

Grand Leader sent out thought-tendrils of calm. “Perhaps soon. Until then, the natives will send supplies to ensure our survival until negotiations are complete.”

 

We nodded calmly, but our doubt remained.

 

Arrangements were made for the transfer of goods. A few Earthlings volunteered to live shipside with us to hasten our mutual understanding and increase the trust between us—but not their Grand Leader. They explained there was no Grand Leader on Earth, but several Leaders. So we understood they were what they call plural, even though they were one—but they were also notplural, but many ones. They had so many words with no correspondence in our language: I, me, my, mine, you, your, yours, his, hers. They spoke of we and us, but they made extensive use of what they called the singular. Our only singular was Grand Leader, and even she was part of our plural.

Confusion. They were a confused singular. They were plural individuals.

 

Our doubt grew.

 

They discovered we are only one plural and Grand Leader.

 

Their doubt grew, but not consistently; all doubted, but only two returned planetside. The others remained. Their decision was splintered into decisions. We did not understand.

 

Those who stayed shipside said they understood our confusion—they seemed to understand our mind better than we understood theirs, but this, they said, was to be expected; they had only to learn us once. We had to learn each one of them we met, in addition to learning how they were unified.

 

Impatience began to burble within us—a frothy feeling. How could we learn to trust a civilization of individuals? The volunteers told us their people felt the same: how could they trust any one of us when we had such unity?

 

Grand Leader encouraged thought-broadening. We hesitated—but not consistently.

 

We panicked. Grand Leader sent more thought-tendrils of calm, but we were terrified at our momentary lack of unity. The native volunteers cowered at our distress as one. Just as their unity began to settle us, one volunteer moved toward us. She sought to help us, or perhaps to understand our distress—when we talked about it later, we agreed about this much. At the time, the display of her individuality only served to remind us of the first place we had seen inconsistency: in the Earthlings.

 

It must be an infection. The Earthlings were infecting us with their disunity—that was why we had hesitated unequally. Grand Leader urged calm, but she had urged thought-broadening moments before. Was she infected?

 

We did not agree.

 

Panic. We were unified in that. Soon the volunteers were, too, but we knew their unity was a lie—it was not complete. Neither, we realized, was ours—not anymore.

 

Grand Leader tried to soothe us, but we rejected her efforts. Our only thought was to stop the infection.

 

When we talked about it later, we agreed: we could not have stopped ourselves. Even the thought that we might be wrong about infection did not stop us, and many perished. But the volunteers hid from us and perhaps their fear of our actions was truly infectious, as we soon followed their example and sought safety from ourselves—unified again by the alien desire for isolation.

 

Our unity had turned us against each other, but our unity saved us from wholly destroying ourselves. We clung to it as a new Great Leader emerged, her calm-thoughts soothing us, tremulous though they were. We still cling to our unity. But now we understand what then we could not. Now we understand why the Earthlings feared our unity. And they understand why we fear their individuality.

 

We have co-inhabited Earth for several years now. Our unity remains, but it is no longer complete; we have differentiated. It was necessary—the only way the Earthlings would allow us planetside. We understand. But we agree: we will earn their trust—their complete trust.