Earth: Starting Notes
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 10: Making Room
Claire Mercer received humanity’s first confirmed extraterrestrial accessibility specification at eight forty-two on a Tuesday morning. It concerned chairs. She read the document twice, then called Daniel. He answered on the fourth ring. “What?”
Claire looked at the architectural brief on her screen.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I’m in the barn.”
“That explains the charm.”
Claire could hear cattle and something metal hit something else in the background. Marcel said faintly: “Tell her the door works.”
Claire frowned. “What door?”
“Nothing,” Daniel said.
“Why is Marcel there?”
“Because he seems to live here now.”
“I can hear you,” Marcel said.
“That’s the problem.”
Claire smiled and returned to the document. “Global Affairs called me.”
Daniel stopped sounding distracted. “About me?”
“No.”
The delay before his answer made Claire smile wider. “Really?”
“Try not to sound hurt.”
“I’m not.”
“They want an architectural consultation for first-contact arrival planning.”
Daniel was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”
“They’re working with Xianglume on environmental and accessibility requirements. This is preliminary work while the diplomatic mission is still being planned.”
“Good.”
Claire leaned back.
“One of the delegates has a tail.”
Daniel said nothing. “Neris?”
“No.”
Another moment passed. “Oh.”
Claire smiled. “You just realized they mean other people.”
“I knew there were other people.”
“Intellectually.”
“Claire.”
“The proposed head delegate has a more rigid tail and wings. Standard human seating does not work particularly well.”
“That’s your thing.”
“That is absolutely my thing.”
“You’re enjoying first contact now.”
“They asked me about door clearances.”
“That’s all it took?”
“You have no idea.”
Marcel called from somewhere behind Daniel: “Ask how aliens build barns.”
“No,” Claire said.
Daniel raised his voice. “She said no.”
“I didn’t ask yet.”
“She knows you.”
Claire shook her head. “The interesting part isn’t the chair. It’s the room.”
“A room?”
“A room for people whose bodies we don’t fully know.”
She opened the design notes. The working principle was adaptable rather than species-specific: movable furniture, generous circulation, adjustable table and display interfaces heights, routes that did not depend on stairs alone, variable lighting, and enough clearance for bodies, equipment, wings or tails.
“You don’t design one perfect alien chair,” Claire said. “You make the chair able to change. Then you apply the same principles at room-level”
Daniel grunted. “That sounds expensive.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Everything architects say that about becomes expensive.”
“Farmers build entire structures around things that weigh seven hundred kilos and refuse instructions.”
“Cows are a known design problem.”
Claire laughed. Daniel had returned to the barn in stages as his recovery allowed: walking the aisles, inspecting equipment and handling light tools while Marcel still took the lifting, climbing and anything Mara had classified as likely to make Daniel’s ribs or pelvis object. Long days cost him. Cold made the healing injuries complain. He was much better than he had been at Christmas and still well short of the farmer he had been before the accident.
Daniel said: “So ramps saved humanity.”
Claire leaned back. “Accessibility usually turns out to be useful to people you weren’t thinking about.”
Daniel was quiet long enough that she knew the line had landed.
Neris had met Ivara Sen many times through screens, but she had never really noticed how specifically Ivara’s chair was built for her. That bothered Neris only after she realized why: on Xianglume, a chair that fit the body using it was ordinary enough to disappear.
Neris’s own chair had a divided lower back that let her flexible tail pass naturally behind her. Ivara’s was lower and open to the rear, with a narrow central support that left room for a much more rigid feathered tail. Her folded wings rested along the sides without being pressed against a broad backrest.
Nobody else in the Ministry meeting room paid either chair any attention. Neris stared until Ivara noticed.
“What?”
“I’m thinking.”
“That has occasionally been dangerous.”
ER joined through the wall display. “I agree.”
Neris looked toward him. “I was talking about the chair.”
Ivara’s pale jaw feathers shifted with amusement. Neris recognized the expression now and wondered how long it would take humans to do the same.
The formal meeting began. The document title appeared:
EARTH CONTACT MISSION — HOST ENVIRONMENT AND SOCIAL PREPARATION
Neris looked at Ivara.
“You’re really leading it.”
“You did read the personnel revision.”
“I did. It feels different when you’re sitting there.”
Ivara had been appointed head of the proposed Earth delegation two days earlier. The appointment had surprised Neris less than she expected. Ivara already knew the case from the debrief onward: the rights language, the first Canadian contact, the public-disclosure decisions and the repeated corrections when procedure had mistaken a person for a category. She had watched the contact become a relationship rather than merely studying it afterward.
Ivara brought up the proposed mission roster.
IVARA SEN — HEAD OF DELEGATION
NERIS VAEL — EARTH-EXPERIENCE / CONTACT ADVISER
ER — CITIZEN DELEGATE / TECHNICAL AND CONTACT ADVISER
Dr. Saren Ilyo remained under consideration for medical liaison.
“He’d be good,” Neris said.
“He is being evaluated. He is a physician, not a diplomat.”
“That is probably a benefit.”
“Saren said something similar.”
The public-facing arrival group had been reduced to six to eight people, with support staff kept separate unless their roles justified appearing with the delegation. Neris approved of the direction.
Ivara changed the screen. Earth’s first formal host-environment questionnaire covered atmospheric and temperature ranges, gravity tolerance, mobility, emergency medicine, food restrictions and pathogen controls. Then Neris reached:
NORMAL BODY CONFIGURATION
She stopped.
ER said: “That is poorly defined.”
Ivara’s jaw feathers moved. “Yes.”
Neris pointed at the line. “What does that even mean?”
“The Earth team appears to mean morphological information required for furniture, movement and emergency support.”
“Then ask that.”
“We are.”
Ivara replaced the field with:
BODY CONFIGURATION AND ACCESS REQUIREMENTS RELEVANT TO HOST ENVIRONMENT
Neris nodded.
“Better.”
“Substantially,” ER said.
Neris looked again at Ivara’s chair.
“I never thought about your chair. Not because it’s unusual. Because it works so naturally, I never had to think about why.”
Ivara’s feathers shifted.
“That is generally the goal.”
“Earth is going to notice everything.”
“Yes.”
Ivara asked whether Neris was comfortable providing the measurements relevant to the host environment. Neris said yes, and Ivara opened the Earth facility draft. One human architecture note had been highlighted:
DO NOT DESIGN FOR A SPECIFIC UNKNOWN BODY. DESIGN FOR RECONFIGURATION.
Ivara read it again. “Who wrote this?”
“Earth architectural working group,” Neris said.
“They understand multispecies design.”
ER said: “They understand accessibility.”
Ivara looked toward him. “Which may be the same skill at a different scale.”
Claire joined the secure planning session at four in the afternoon. She had spent half the day reminding federal staff that she was not there because of Daniel. Marc Beaulieu introduced her anyway.
“Claire Mercer, architect, Toronto—”
Claire cut in.
“Architect is enough.”
Beaulieu stopped, then smiled.
“Architect.”
“Thank you.”
The Xianglume side appeared as heavily compressed translated video, enough for a short professional session with limited participants. Claire recognized Neris immediately. Ivara appeared beside her, and Claire’s attention went first to the open-backed chair that left clear space for the Arilanan’s rigid feathered tail and folded wings.
“Ms. Mercer.”
“Claire is fine.”
“I am Ivara Sen.”
“Good to finally meet you properly.”
Ivara’s beak shifted slightly. Claire suspected humour but did not yet trust herself to read it.
Beaulieu opened the facility plan. “We’re currently considering a flexible federal civilian site rather than the original contact location.”
Ivara nodded. “Preferred.”
Claire glanced toward Neris and saw the relief in her ears before Beaulieu continued. “Nothing final. For accommodation planning, we’re trying to avoid overfitting the facility to the initial roster.”
Claire took over. “We can make most spaces adaptable without knowing exact body types.”
She summarized adjustable surfaces, open circulation, modular seating, multiple interface heights and environmental zoning: architecture that admitted in advance that the architect did not know every body that might arrive.
Ivara’s jaw feathers lifted slightly. Claire looked at her. “What does that gesture mean?”
“Interest,” Ivara said. “Sometimes irritation.”
Neris smiled. “Not this time.”
A Canadian engineer displayed a standard meeting chair.
“Would this work for an Arilanan visitor if we shortened the back?”
Ivara rotated enough for the camera to show the tail projecting behind her.
“No. A shorter back still obstructs the tail.”
Claire removed the broad back from the model and replaced it with a narrow central support and clear rear channel.
“Better?”
“Potentially. Support can be forward-lateral rather than directly behind.”
The engineer said: “We could make a custom Arilanan seat.”
Claire shook her head. “No.”
He looked at her. “Why?”
“Because then we have an Arilanan chair. What happens when someone else arrives?”
She changed the model again, adding adjustable side supports and optional back inserts so the same basic frame could accommodate human, Mephit and Arilanan configurations without making any one of them permanent.
Ivara studied it. “That is closer to how public seating is often handled here.”
Claire smiled. “We accidentally invented a chair together.”
Neris laughed first. ER said: “Technically, the design remains preliminary.”
Claire looked toward his audio indicator.
“Is that you, ER?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so.”
“I am uncertain how to interpret that.”
“You’ll manage.”
On Xianglume, the phrase SUCCESSFULLY ASSIMILATED lasted six minutes. Neris read it and her ears went flat. “I did not assimilate.”
Ivara nodded. “It has already been flagged.”
ER said: “You adopted several Earth behavioural habits.”
“That is not assimilation.”
“You drink coffee.”
“That is addiction.”
Ivara’s jaw feathers shifted. Neris pointed at the document. “I learned how Daniel organizes tools badly.”
“He rejects that characterization,” ER said.
“He is wrong.”
“You learned human English idiom.”
“You taught me half of it incorrectly.”
“I taught you creatively.”
“You taught me ‘hold your horses’ before explaining horses.”
“Pedagogically memorable.”
Neris looked at Ivara. “I lived with people. I adapted, and they adapted too. I did not become human.”
Ivara closed the Earth draft. “Contact does not require cultural flattening.”
Neris looked at the sentence after Ivara entered it into the mission notes.
“Keep that.”
Ivara did. Neris leaned back. “What do they think I’m supposed to be?”
Ivara answered carefully. “A bridge.”
Neris frowned. “That sounds like a lot to put on one person.”
ER said: “Bridges are frequently load-bearing.”
Neris looked toward his display.
“Thank you, ER.”
Ivara continued before he could answer. “You are not being asked to carry the burden of making first contact work. You are not being asked to translate humanity for Xianglume, or Xianglume for humanity. You are being asked to tell us when a procedure looks reasonable on paper and terrible in a kitchen.”
Neris considered.
“That I can do.”
Beaulieu sat across from Daniel at the kitchen table with the Canadian secure device between them. He had come north because several site and liaison questions were easier face to face, and because one discreet federal vehicle at the end of the road was preferable to making Daniel travel repeatedly while he was still recovering.
Security presence remained discreet, no uniforms and no spectacle. Daniel appreciated that more every day. He also appreciated that Beaulieu did not offer to help carry anything; Marcel had already established that Daniel’s current definition of light work could not be trusted without supervision.
Beaulieu opened a note. “What should they know before they arrive?”
Daniel looked through the window at snow, the barn and Marcel’s truck. “Don’t arrive like you’re here to fix us.”
Beaulieu wrote it down. Daniel sighed but continued. “Don’t arrive afraid of us either. If you’re scared, people will notice.”
Beaulieu stopped writing for a moment. “If they act like they know everything, people will notice that too.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t pretend Earth is one thing.”
“That is already in the planning framework.”
“Anything practical?”
Daniel nodded. “Bring someone who gets cold.”
Beaulieu’s pen stopped. “What?”
“Perspective.”
Beaulieu stared. Daniel smiled. “You asked.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Beaulieu wrote it anyway. Daniel groaned.
“And don’t bring twenty-three people.”
Beaulieu smiled. “Neris already covered that.”
They sat quietly for a moment before Beaulieu said: “One other issue.”
Daniel looked at him.
“There is language in an Earth briefing draft suggesting Neris is being included because she successfully assimilated into human culture.”
Daniel’s expression changed. “We’re removing it. She objected, and so did Xianglume.”
Daniel took another drink of coffee. “Good.”
Beaulieu waited. “She didn’t assimilate.”
“We know.”
“She learned us.”
Daniel thought of Neris in the barn and in his bed, discovering popcorn, correcting his tool inventory, grieving with him, laughing at Marcel and remaining unmistakably herself every day she had been there. “She never became less Neris.”
Beaulieu did not write that one down.
Daniel looked at him. “That one you can use.”
Beaulieu nodded.
ER’s first attempt at walking lasted four seconds. Veyan called it progress, ER called it a control failure and Neris called it funny. The mobility prototype was still only a test frame: lower torso, two legs, a temporary sensor mast and one connected manipulator system, enough to test mass distribution, balance, joint control and proprioceptive feedback.
The orange vest was not involved yet. ER stood in Aster Vale’s fabrication lab with Veyan beside him and Ressa behind a safety line. Neris watched remotely from her parents’ home. Ormaz had appeared behind her without invitation.
“Ready,” ER said.
Veyan nodded. “Take one step.”
ER moved too fast. The prototype shifted forward, corrected and overcorrected. One foot struck the floor harder than necessary; the chassis rocked and Veyan caught the support rail before ER stabilized.
Neris said: “You walk like Dad.”
Ormaz appeared fully over her shoulder. “I do not walk like that.”
ER said: “Thank you.”
Ormaz folded his arms. “I walk perfectly normally.”
Neris glanced back. “You supervise plumbing in the same posture.”
Veyan interrupted before Ormaz could defend plumbing. “Again.”
ER reset and tried more slowly. One step, weight transfer, a second and then a third; his control model adjusted with each movement until he stopped in better balance.
Veyan nodded. “You’re thinking like a spacecraft.”
ER turned the sensor mast. “I am a spacecraft.”
“At the moment, you’re forty-eight kilograms standing on two feet.”
“The mass is temporary.”
“The feet aren’t.”
ER took another step, then another. Neris watched the movement settle into something she had not expected to recognize so quickly. She was no longer watching a borrowed maintenance machine or imagining Takuhai translated into smaller hardware; she was watching ER learn where his feet ended, where the floor began and how much of himself had to move before balance changed.
Veyan put a chair in front of him. ER stopped. Neris’s ears lifted. The chair problem had arrived.
“Sit,” Veyan said.
ER stared at the chair. “I understand the task.”
“Then sit.”
“I am calculating.”
“Calculate less.”
“That instruction is imprecise.”
ER approached the chair, turned, adjusted his position and moved two centimetres before adjusting again. Neris put her muzzle against one paw.
Ormaz said: “He is docking.”
“I can hear you,” ER said.
“I know.”
Veyan pointed at the chair. “Sit. Stop calculating.”
“I am not capable of—”
“Sit.”
ER lowered himself with perfect vertical precision, feet parallel and hands placed symmetrically on his knees.
Neris stared. “Nobody sits like that.”
“I am sitting.”
“Technically.”
ER remained rigid for another moment, then looked toward her remote display.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He let the answer stand and leaned back a little. The chair accepted his weight. One hand shifted from his knee to the armrest, then the other followed, making him look less like a test rig and more like a person.
Neris stopped smiling. Ormaz stopped talking. ER noticed both. “What?”
Neris shook her head. “Nothing.”
He let that stand too.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.