text: Planet KL-9592 was pretty enough, Captain L’aran Storacher thought as her ship approached, but nothing special. She could name fifteen galaxies off the top of her head that were more impressive than this backwater on the edge of the universe, and the planet itself was relatively simple, covered by dull blue with patches of swirled green and brown across it that were obscured in places by weather patterns. Visually, there was nothing to explain the excitement among her passengers as they approached the small planet. She turned to her first mate, K’chan, intending to ask if he knew what was so exciting about this pale blue nothing when the ship’s computer chirped, alerting the crew to incoming space junk. L’aran had been born on a spaceship, and she hadn’t spent much time off of one in the intervening three tetrades, but she’d never seen anything like this. As they approached the planet there was more and more space junk, all of it apparently engineered, made out of a shining metallic material and twisted into impossible shapes. The computer was able to chart a course clear of the junk, but the entire bridge quieted for a confused moment as the polluted horizon appeared on the large screen in front of them. “Captain.” The frazzled voice came from behind her and she turned to find the ship’s passenger coordinator, I’nari, standing behind her. I’nari usually projected a calm and collected presence, but today she seemed...almost smudged around the edges. Her crest was slicked back as normal, but there were small pin feathers popping out along the edges. Her uniform was clean but didn’t appear to have been pressed before she put it on, removing the crisp edges she was usually so proud to display. Most telling, she hadn’t put on her vision assistance cups, instead opting to use the clunkier vision assistance frames. “You look like someone the helstock dragged in,” K’chan snorted, eyeing I’nari’s less than impressive appearance. I’nari put her hands up and smoothed her crest back, the small pin feathers popping right back out. “It’s fine,” L’aran gave K’chan a quelling look. She knew he enjoyed needling the pretty passenger coordinator, but something was obviously upsetting her and he should know better. There was a time and place for such things and now was not it. “How are our passengers doing, I’nari?” L’aran had spent about half of the trip eating in the passenger dining hall. Orean, the captain she had served as first mate, had taught her that while it was important for passengers to see her and even be able to approach her on occasion, it was also just as important to control where and how such things happened. Otherwise, Orean had confided in her, they would inherently choose the worst possible timing to force their way to see her. Her dinners among them were why she knew that her current set of passengers were all archeologists and scientists. It was unlikely that the passengers were physically dangerous to I’nari, and the poor woman didn’t seem to be injured. Yet something was obviously off. Come to think of it, L’aran hadn’t seen a lot of the passenger coordinator during this trip. She usually spent a lot of time on the bridge, trading barbs with K’chan. L’aran thought they should just mate already and get it over with, but what did she know about such things? “Captain...” I’nari hesitated, which caused L’aran to sit up straighter. I’nari was very straight forward, she didn’t usually hesitate. “Some of the passengers are requesting that we stop and take samples of the space junk.” L’aran felt her eye ridges raise and when she looked at K’chan he had the same incredulous look on his face. “I know that’s not possible,” I’nari was quick to say. “It’s not on the flight plan, it’s not possible .” She murmured the last words more to herself than her audience, then she looked up at L’aran. “It’s only, one of the archeologists is being quite the pain about needing to ‘take samples’ and no matter how many times I try to explain the intricacies of space flight and flight plans and fuel capacity, she’s being rather hardheaded about it all. No offense,” I’nari cringed and looked at K’chan. The quartz-based being chuckled and waved her apology off. “We take that as a compliment on my home planet,” he said graciously. L’aran pinched her nasal bridge. She knew exactly who I’nari was talking about. Herian Imal was the head of the expedition to KL-9592 and she’d approached the captain a few times during her dinners in the passenger dining hall, always with questions regarding the passenger’s baggage allowance. L’aran didn’t care how they divided it up, but each passenger was allowed 1,009 yikons of baggage, period. I’nari was right to talk about “the intricacies of space flight and flight plans and fuel capacity.” If they carried too much weight, the fuel capacity would suffer and they wouldn’t make it home for Dr. Imal to conduct her “very important archaeological research.” Dr. Imal had refused to take that for an answer, arguing that her team would likely need more than the weight allotted to them. She also just had a really high pitched voice, which annoyed L’aran. To be fair, all Coriani had high pitched voices, it was a part of their biology, but Dr. Imal managed somehow to hit a pitch that made L’aran want to remove the other being’s vocal organ. “Has Dr. Imal been badgering you a lot during this trip?” she asked carefully. I’nari somehow looked even more frazzled while still maintaining her perfect posture. L’aran could swear she saw another pin feather pop free of the poor being’s crest. “Dr. Imal has very exacting standards, Captain. And as the leader of the expedition, she wants to make sure every detail is perfect so that her team are able to use their time on KL-9592 to the fullest.” That would be a yes. “What is so important about this,” L’aran waved her hand at the approaching planet, searching for a good description of the underwhelming sight, “this water covered rock? As far as I can tell we’re at the back end of the universe at a tiny nothing of a planet surrounded by weird space junk.” K’chan sighed, sounding put upon.“You didn’t read my write up about this trip, did you?” He asked, though he obviously already knew the answer. L’aran felt her nasal ridges flare, partly in indignation but she’d be lying if there wasn’t a bit of embarrassment there too. “I read the passenger manifest and studied the orbital trajectories,” she defended herself weakly. “But no, I didn’t read your extracurricular essay.” K’chan and I’nari both looked at her like she was the strange one here. Like it wasn’t first mates who spent their free time writing up packets of information about where they were going and why who were weird. L’aran didn’t really care where they were going or why her passengers wanted to go there; it was just her job to get them there and home again. “Did you not study KL-9592 in school?” I’nari asked, honestly curious. “I grew up in the Mondrage Fleet,” L’aran answered, “early schooling was focused more on surviving in space.” “And then you had to take up surviving in space as your post-schooling too,” K’chan rolled his eyes. “Did you know,” I’nari asked, her eyes lighting up, “that 87% of the children born and raised in the Mondrage Fleet end up choosing to live planetside when they are of age? And of those 87% only about 5% ever move their home even once, even on planet. And only 2% of the children born and raised there end up staying with the Fleet.” I’nari loved so-called fun facts. L’aran, whose entire clutch had settled on their Pa’s home planet when they came of age, had lived those facts and found them less than fun. Though that might have been because she was the decided outsider in her clutch. And the clutch ahead of them. And the one behind. “I guess I’m part of the 11% then,” L’aran smiled weakly, not wanting to crush I’nari’s enthusiasm. “But yes, I did not receive a standard planetside early education, though our teachers always stressed that our curriculum met the Federation standard.” Both K’chan and I’nari looked unconvinced. L’aran cleared her throat. “So what is so special about KL-9592?” “It’s the first,” K’chan said simply. L’aran made an inquisitive noise at him. “Planet KL-9592 has remains of the earliest recorded civilizations in the universe,” I’nari explained. “Okay.” L’aran drew the word out, trying to figure out how to phrase her next question. K’chan laughed. “Oh, you space headed being,” he teased. “What I’nari is trying to say, what I wrote so eloquently in my ’extracurricular essay,’ is that not only are the ruins on KL-9592 the oldest in the known universe, the civilizations they came from are extinct. Whatever beings lived on KL-9592 died out long before the Federation was even a twinkle in General Orielian’s eye.” He paused, then asked, “You know who that is, right?” “Of course I know who General Orielian is,” L’aran groused, though it was a fair question. “I said our curriculum was to the Federation standard, didn’t I?” “As far as they can tell,” I’nari said when it looked like K’chan was about to snipe back at L’aran, “and by ‘they’ I mean archaeologists like Dr. Imal and her team, the beings of KL-9592 had achieved space flight, but they never left this solar system. It’s unclear what caused their extinction, but it seems to have happened suddenly and unexpectedly. The other thing they know is that it happened 759,000 years ago.” L’aran felt her eyes widen at that. Her own people, the Ginassi, were considered one of the oldest beings in the universe but their earliest fossil records only dated to about 500,000 years ago. Their oral history extended maybe three thousand years and their written history even less. “759 thousand?” she asked, to make sure she’d heard correctly. “Yup.” K’chan nodded once. “And because it’s so old, it’s protected by the Federation. It takes about a gazillion permits and a very thorough background check for anyone wanting to study the ruins there. That’s why this trip is only two Federation annuals and not, say, a tetrade or two.” Maybe Dr. Imal’s overbearing demeanor was understandable then. L’aran didn’t know how much it cost to get the permits to study KL-9592 but they were no doubt expensive and Dr. Imal’s sponsor for this expedition was an association of small universities from the Theian Galaxy. Maybe Fed U and its sibling schools at the center of the universe could fund multiple expeditions to KL-9592, but this was likely Dr. Imal’s only chance to visit. L’aran imagined Dr. Imal felt like a pilot who usually made planet-satellite jumps being asked to test fly the newest Federation spacecraft. Like, a really sleek, fast one. “Do you need me to pull rank on Dr. Imal?” L’aran returned her mind to the reason I’nari was here. “I hate to ask, Captain. I know it’s technically my job.” I’nari smoothed her hands down the front of her uniform, looking down in consternation as she felt the lack of crisp lines. “ Ifaal .” She requested the help of her people’s main deity quietly. “They’re going to drive me to drink at this rate.” “Not to worry,” L’aran sent control of the ship to K’chan’s console and stood from her chair. “What’s the point of being captain if I can’t put the fear of the stars into a passenger every once in a while?” K’chan smiled wickedly at her.“I know that’s my favorite part of your job,” he joked as she headed toward the bridge doors. ~ The pitch of Dr. Imal’s voice, L’aran decided a few minutes later, was not understandable. No spacecraft was sleek or fast enough to excuse her tone. “No.” L’aran cut off the being’s rant about the importance of space junk from KL-9592 based on a recent article by Yuurili in The Archaeological Association’s quarterly digest. “I am the captain of this craft, and I am telling you that what you want is impossible. That is the end of the conversation. You will not badger my passenger coordinator about things that are impossible any longer, am I understood?” Dr. Imal shrank back for a second, then glared at L’aran as if she could use the force of her bright eyes alone to change the answer she didn’t like, but L’aran had been a captain long enough that angry passengers didn’t phase her. “Fine,” Dr. Imal huffed. “But you’re standing in the way of expanding the knowledge of every being in the Federation!” With that self important volley, she turned and stomped off. Well, as much as a Corian could stomp, anyway. L’aran caught I’nari’s eye and rolled her own. I’nari’s lips twitched, but she maintained her professional facade. There were still passengers around, after all. ~ Back on the bridge, L’aran checked that their trajectory was still free of the multitude of space junk that circled KL-9592, then turned to her personal screen and pulled up a few articles about the ugly planet. She read a few news articles and a few academic articles before choosing a personal opinion post. It was written, years ago, by the being who now hosted her favorite history cast. Effectively , the post read, the beings of Planet KL-9592 must have believed themselves to be alone in the universe. No other civilization we know of now existed at the time of their extinction, not in any appreciable way. Even the earliest Ginassi had yet to hatch by the time those beings were lost. And yet, we find again and again in the detritus of their lives art and stories about the universe at large. They dreamed of a world beyond their own. They imagined a universe full of life and color and technology they could not create themselves, but that would make their world, make any world, a better and fairer place. The beings of KL-9592 were not perfect, that is clear. Their remains include tales of horrors that range from planet wide wars to horrendous interpersonal conflicts. One of their foundational stories appears to be about a man who kills his brother due to jealousy that his brother is favored by their deity. These were not always peaceful beings. They were not always as kind as they imagined the rest of the universe to be. But can you blame them? They thought they were alone in the vast black of the universe. I imagine it’s a lot like being left alone in a locked, dark room, with no idea if any one else is in dwelling. And still...and still they sang songs and wrote stories and created casts that celebrated each other, celebrated the world around them, and celebrated the best that the universe could be. And that, in my opinion, is the best lesson we can learn from them. ~ A few clocks later, after their craft had navigated the space junk and entered the planet’s atmosphere, they landed on KL-9592. As the captain, it was L’aran’s job to disembark first, to ensure the environment was safe. KL-9592 was safe for all beings on the craft, atmosphere wise, though L’aran had been warned the gravity would be a little heavier than she was used to. She felt it the moment she stepped foot on the dusty surface of the planet, like someone had attached strong, magnetic boots to her feet. Otherwise, though, they had hit their landing spot perfectly and of course there was no native fauna to worry about. There hadn’t been in 759,000 years. There was, however, native flora, all around her. It was mostly green with spots of red, and yellow, and pink, and orange, and brown scattered throughout. No wonder they dreamed about a universe full of color, their planet was bursting with it! Remembering herself, she pressed the button to open her com line and assure everyone that it was safe. K’chan came down next, followed by more of her crew. The porters spilled from the back of the craft, unloading the equipment the archaeologist and scientists would need for the next two annuals. Finally, the passengers disembarked, led by Dr. Imal. “Captain,” the being said cooly, nodding her head. L’aran withheld an eye roll. “Dr. Imal, welcome to KL-9592. The porters are unloading your equipment.” “Thank you, Captain.” Dr. Imal inclined her head again, but her eyes were already wandering to where the porters were unloading. L’aran started to indicated that Dr. Imal was free to hurry off toward them and begin hovering and chattering at them about delicate equipment. She paused, though. “Dr. Imal, can you tell me what the beings here called their planet?” Every planet had a home name and a Federation designation, after all. There was no way the civilization here called it KL-9592. Dr. Imal thought for a moment, then brightened. “If I recall correctly, in the language of the beings who lived on this part of the planet, they had different languages for different regions, you see,” she explained, hands gesturing excitedly. “But yes, the beings of this region called it... Earth .” “ Earth ,” L’aran muttered to herself, smiling in thanks before finally indicating the archaeologist was free to go. As the Corian hurried away, L’aran looked out at the colorful world that had once been the home of a civilization born too early, and nodded to herself. She turned to her first mate. “Welcome to Earth .”