Earth: Starting Notes
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 2: Messages in Transit
Daniel made breakfast.
Claire noticed before she sat down.
She stopped in the kitchen doorway wearing socks, one of Daniel’s old sweatshirts and the expression of someone who had just discovered a wild animal using cutlery.
Daniel looked over his shoulder.
“What?”
“You made eggs.”
“I’ve made eggs before.”
“Recently?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Daniel pointed the spatula at her.
“You’re very unpleasant in the morning.”
Claire looked at the stove.
Two plates.
Toast.
Eggs.
Coffee already poured.
The maple transceiver sat at the far end of the kitchen table.
Its display remained unchanged.
OUTBOUND QUEUE: 1
NEXT PROBABLE TRANSMISSION WINDOW: 26–49 HOURS
The numbers had narrowed overnight.
Daniel had checked them at six.
Once.
He had not checked again.
Claire saw the display.
Then Daniel.
Then the eggs.
She smiled.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say thank you.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“No.”
Daniel put her plate down.
Claire sat.
He sat opposite.
For the first time in almost two weeks, breakfast did not feel like something Daniel was performing because other people had told him he needed calories.
He was hungry.
Not enormously.
Enough.
Claire picked up her fork.
Daniel ate half an egg before realizing she was still watching.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“I’m leaving today.”
Daniel stopped.
The sentence should not have surprised him.
They had discussed it.
Claire had a life in Toronto.
Work.
An apartment.
People who had accepted increasingly improbable explanations for why she had remained at her brother’s farm in northern Ontario through most of December.
Daniel nodded.
“Okay.”
Claire waited.
He ate another bite.
“That’s it?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re going home.”
Claire looked toward the transceiver.
Daniel followed her gaze.
“Home got complicated,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Still works.”
Daniel smiled.
“Apparently.”
Claire reached for toast.
“I can stay.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“You’re still healing.”
“I know.”
“You’re not allowed on the tractor.”
“I am aware.”
“Marcel will tell me.”
“I’m beginning to think that entire friendship was a mistake.”
“He thinks the same thing.”
Daniel drank coffee.
Claire looked at the maple box.
“What happens when that sends?”
“I wait.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“I wait.”
“And if you get another message?”
“I read it.”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
Daniel sighed.
“And call you.”
“Good.”
“Mara too, if it’s medical.”
“Good.”
“Marcel if it involves cows.”
Claire smiled.
“Excellent emergency hierarchy.”
Daniel looked at the transceiver.
Twenty-six to forty-nine hours.
Somewhere, Neris knew he knew.
That was still almost too large a thought.
She knew the beacon arrived.
Or maybe she did not yet.
The first status message had been automated.
Daniel had spent part of the night wondering exactly what happened on the other side after Takuhai emerged.
Safe.
Functional.
Stable.
Three words doing the work of entire conversations.
He wanted more.
He also understood now that more existed.
That changed everything.
Claire’s fork touched her plate.
“You slept.”
Daniel looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“You don’t look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately.”
She ate.
Daniel watched snow move past the kitchen window.
The saleth bottle stood beside Neris’s brush.
He had opened it the previous night.
Just once.
Not because he needed proof.
Because he wanted the smell.
Citrus.
Dark chocolate.
A place he had never seen.
A person who was alive.
He had closed the bottle, gone upstairs and slept for seven hours.
Progress, apparently, smelled like alien grooming oil.
ER objected to the removal of panel seven before anyone touched it.
The repair technician stopped with both upper manipulators extended.
“Access to the aft field coupler requires panel seven.”
“I am aware.”
“Then may I remove it?”
“Why is panel five insufficient?”
The technician paused.
Neris sat on a cargo crate at the edge of Aster Vale’s auxiliary bay, drinking something that claimed to be coffee.
It was not.
She had stopped objecting because doing so did not improve it.
The technician said:
“Panel five gives diagnostic access.”
“Yes.”
“Panel seven gives physical access.”
“I am aware.”
The technician waited.
ER waited.
Neris took another sip.
The technician looked toward her.
Neris raised one paw.
“Do not involve me.”
“I was not going to.”
“You looked at me.”
“I was looking for context.”
“The context is that he has been repaired by one courier pilot, one Canadian farmer, one architect, and several pieces of agricultural equipment.”
ER said:
“That is an unfair summary.”
Neris nodded.
“Also an AI.”
“Thank you.”
“The farmer counts the AI separately.”
“I regret thanking you.”
The technician’s mandibles moved in what Neris interpreted as amusement.
“ER, may I remove panel seven to access the aft field coupler?”
A pause.
“What tools?”
“Noninvasive latch release. No cutting.”
“Duration?”
“Approximately eleven minutes.”
“Will the panel return to the same orientation?”
“Yes.”
“Seal replacement?”
“Only if diagnostics indicate degradation.”
“Document before and after.”
“Already planned.”
ER considered.
“Yes.”
The technician touched the panel.
Nothing exploded.
Neris drank the fake coffee.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I am ensuring competent repair.”
“You asked her whether she planned to put the panel back the way she found it.”
“Yes.”
“She works on spacecraft for a living.”
“That is not proof of tidiness.”
The technician said without looking up:
“I can still hear you.”
“I am aware.”
Neris smiled.
The interior of Takuhai looked violated.
There was no gentler word for it.
Panels stood open along the aft work bay.
The blackened remains of the resonator assembly had been removed in sections and now rested inside sealed examination containers several metres away.
Scaffolds surrounded the starboard side.
Cables linked ER to Aster Vale’s power and diagnostic systems.
Technicians came and went only after explicit permission.
Everything was careful.
Everything was correct.
ER hated it.
Neris understood.
She had watched strangers touch his body only once before, years ago during scheduled overhaul.
That had been routine.
This was not.
This was damage.
And the last people who had worked inside him had been household.
Daniel beneath the work light.
Claire holding the brace against the maple cradle.
Neris upside down under a panel.
Marcel arriving with bolts nobody had asked for.
ER complaining the entire time.
Now the hands were more skilled.
That did not make them familiar.
A different technician approached Neris carrying a tablet.
“Courier Vael?”
“Neris.”
“Preliminary structural report.”
She stood.
ER said:
“I already received it.”
“I assumed.”
Neris held out her paw.
The technician transferred the report anyway.
The resonator lattice was gone.
Not damaged.
Gone.
Destroyed beyond meaningful repair.
The surge had travelled through the remaining field-control architecture and vented through the sacrificial brace assemblies surrounding the compartment.
Neris read that section twice.
“ER.”
“Yes.”
“The brace failed outward.”
“Yes.”
“That was the point.”
“Yes.”
“The maple cradle assembly distributed it.”
“Partly.”
“Claire’s brace.”
“Yes.”
The technician pointed to a structural image.
“This component is nonstandard.”
Neris looked.
Maple laminate.
Composite guides.
Layered reinforcement.
A section Claire had redesigned after watching stress maps for less than an hour.
“Yes.”
“Who built it?”
Neris’s muzzle shifted.
“An architect.”
The technician’s crest lifted.
“Courier architecture?”
“Buildings.”
Silence.
ER said:
“She is annoyingly competent.”
Neris looked at the technician.
“That means he likes her.”
“I did not say that.”
“You classify her as household.”
“That is unrelated.”
The technician scrolled.
“And this?”
She enlarged another image.
Copper tubing.
A heat sink.
The ugly old radiator assembly.
Neris’s ears lifted.
“Canadian thermal solution.”
The technician stared.
ER said:
“No.”
“No?”
“Do not praise it.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were thinking about praising it.”
The technician looked toward Neris.
Neris nodded.
“He can tell.”
“That system shed enough transient heat during emergence to prevent secondary damage.”
ER’s cabin lights dimmed by one degree.
Neris smiled.
The technician continued.
“It is inelegant.”
ER brightened.
“Thank you.”
“Also effective.”
The lights dimmed again.
Neris laughed.
The technician finally smiled.
“We will preserve it until the replacement architecture is installed.”
ER said:
“I object.”
“On what technical basis?”
A long pause.
“Aesthetic.”
The technician made a note.
Neris leaned closer.
“What did you write?”
“Resident AI objection: aesthetic.”
ER said:
“This vessel is becoming hostile.”
Mara arrived at the farm shortly after eleven.
Daniel opened the door before she knocked.
She looked at him.
“You were waiting.”
“I saw your car.”
“Normal people still let visitors knock.”
“You’re not a visitor.”
Mara considered.
“Fair.”
She stepped inside, stamped snow from her boots and immediately looked toward the maple transceiver.
The arrival message remained on screen beneath the queue status.
Daniel had left it visible.
Mara removed her coat.
“That it?”
“Yeah.”
She walked to the table.
Read.
Her expression changed almost imperceptibly.
NERIS VAEL: SAFE
ER: FUNCTIONAL
TAKUHAI: STABLE
Mara nodded.
“Good.”
Daniel waited.
“That’s all?”
She looked at him.
“Would you prefer interpretive dance?”
Daniel smiled.
“No.”
“Good. Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
Claire entered carrying a suitcase.
Mara pointed at her.
“You’re leaving him?”
Claire looked offended.
“I am returning to my life.”
“So yes.”
“He has Marcel.”
“Unfortunate.”
Daniel said, “Still here.”
Neither acknowledged him.
Mara opened her medical bag.
Daniel pulled up his sleeve.
His recovery remained absurd.
That was Mara’s preferred technical term.
She checked the monitor.
Heart.
Respiration.
Inflammation.
Nanite activity.
Bone-repair trends.
Daniel watched the familiar data scroll.
“You’re behaving.”
“Mostly.”
Claire made a sound.
Mara looked at her.
“Define mostly.”
Daniel said, “Don’t.”
Claire smiled.
Mara continued the examination.
Ribs still tender.
Pelvic healing progressing.
Lung clear.
Nanite activity continuing along expected patterns.
Expected according to one alien system nobody on Earth truly understood.
Mara looked at the transceiver again.
“Can that send medical data?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Small packets.”
“Encrypted?”
“ER said authenticated and encrypted.”
“That’s not the same as me understanding how.”
“No.”
“What can they receive?”
“Short messages. Status packets. Tiny files, maybe.”
“Any live link?”
“No.”
“Voice?”
“No.”
“Video?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Daniel blinked.
“You sound relieved.”
“I don’t want an unknown medical system developing a habit of remote access to your body through a communications device on your kitchen table.”
Claire nodded.
Daniel looked between them.
“You two are terrifying together.”
Mara ignored him.
“Can we send the monitor summary?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to?”
Daniel looked at the data.
His body.
Xianglume technology.
Neris somewhere beyond both.
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“No.”
Mara nodded immediately.
Daniel appreciated that.
“Vitals. Nanite trends. Healing markers. No full medical history.”
“Good.”
“No personal notes.”
“Good.”
“No Earth medical records unless I approve them separately.”
Mara looked at him.
“Very good.”
Claire zipped the suitcase.
Daniel looked at the transceiver.
“We can attach it behind my message?”
“Separate traffic,” Mara said.
“Yes.”
“Keep it separate.”
“I planned to.”
“I know. I’m agreeing with you.”
Daniel smiled.
“Dangerous precedent.”
Mara began preparing the packet.
She glanced at the arrival message again.
“Safe isn’t much.”
Daniel’s smile faded.
“No.”
“You know if she’s injured?”
“No.”
“ER?”
“Functional.”
“Which is somehow less informative than safe.”
“Yeah.”
“Ship stable.”
“Also not reassuring.”
“No.”
Mara finished the packet.
“Then we wait.”
Daniel looked at her.
She shrugged.
“I hate it too.”
That helped.
The second debrief began after lunch aboard Aster Vale.
Neris arrived with actual food.
She had refused to attend without it.
Senior Contact Assessor Ivara Sen appeared on the wall display at precisely the appointed time.
Her feathers were immaculate.
Neris distrusted anyone that immaculate after long-distance work.
ER joined through the room speakers.
Ivara said:
“Thank you for attending.”
Neris opened her food container.
“You are welcome.”
“You may eat.”
“I intended to.”
“I assumed.”
Neris’s ears lifted.
ER said:
“I find her increasingly tolerable.”
Ivara looked toward the speaker.
“That endorsement will be added to my personnel file.”
ER paused.
“Please do not.”
Neris laughed.
Ivara’s beak shifted.
The first session had been triage.
Danger.
Exposure.
Biology.
Daniel.
Now the Ministry wanted context.
Ivara displayed a timeline.
Not exhaustive.
The crash.
Daniel’s first approach.
Initial concealment.
Takuhai repairs.
First town visit.
Signals.
Veyra.
Proof of life.
Resonator sacrifice.
Daniel’s accident.
Family contact.
Departure.
Neris looked at it.
Two months of her life reduced to points.
It felt obscene.
Necessary.
Obscene anyway.
Ivara said:
“Why Daniel Mercer?”
Neris stopped eating.
“What?”
“Why was he trusted?”
“He helped.”
“Many people help strangers without receiving access to advanced technology.”
“He did not receive advanced technology.”
Ivara looked toward the speaker.
ER said:
“Correct.”
Ivara nodded.
“Why did he conceal you?”
Neris thought.
“Because I asked.”
“That is not enough.”
“No.”
“What made him agree?”
“He believed me.”
“Immediately?”
“No.”
“What changed?”
Neris looked at the timeline.
Coffee.
A barn.
Parts.
Cold.
A man who had left a rifle at the treeline because walking toward an unknown alien while armed felt impolite.
“He watched what I did.”
Ivara waited.
“I watched what he did.”
“And?”
“We became less unknown.”
Ivara made a note.
Neris frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You wrote something.”
“I am an assessor.”
“That does not answer the question.”
ER said:
“She is adapting to Daniel.”
Neris looked upward.
Ivara said:
“I wrote: trust developed behaviourally before culturally.”
Neris considered.
“Yes.”
Ivara moved on.
“Claire Mercer.”
“Daniel’s sister.”
“She learned about you before arriving physically.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Daniel was injured.”
“Why Claire?”
“Family.”
“Why not Canadian emergency services?”
Neris’s tail tightened.
“We assessed that disclosure risk and uncontrolled medical intervention could worsen his survival probability.”
“Was that ER’s conclusion?”
“Yes.”
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel was unconscious?”
“Initially.”
“And afterward?”
“He agreed with the decision.”
Ivara nodded.
“Marcel.”
“Neighbour.”
“Why was he brought in?”
“The farm required physical labour Daniel could not provide.”
“Why not conceal the cause?”
“We tried.”
ER said:
“Poorly.”
Neris looked at the speaker.
“You suggested three of the explanations.”
“They were statistically plausible.”
“Marcel did not find them statistically plausible.”
“He is suspicious.”
“He has met Daniel.”
Ivara made another note.
“Dr. Singh.”
“Medical continuity.”
“Human physician.”
“Yes.”
“Trusted.”
“Yes.”
“Necessary.”
“Yes.”
Ivara looked at the timeline.
“Four humans.”
“More now know parts.”
“Anne?”
Neris paused.
“Marcel’s wife does not know the full truth.”
“Edith?”
“No.”
“Local community?”
“No.”
ER said:
“However, community behaviour indicates growing anomaly awareness without confirmed extraterrestrial interpretation.”
Ivara looked toward the speaker.
“Explain.”
ER summarized.
Unusual lights.
Daniel’s injury.
Claire’s arrival.
Mara’s increased visits.
Marcel’s secrecy.
External questions.
Local reluctance to provide information.
Ivara listened carefully.
“Protective social behaviour.”
Neris nodded.
Ivara said:
“That may matter.”
“Why?”
“If formal contact proceeds, Daniel Mercer’s location will eventually become identifiable.”
Neris stopped.
The room changed.
Not physically.
The future entered it.
Reporters.
Government vehicles.
Scientists.
Crowds.
People wanting answers.
People wanting technology.
People wanting Daniel.
Her tail went still.
“He stays on his farm.”
Ivara watched her.
“That may not be solely his choice.”
Neris’s ears flattened.
“It is exactly his choice.”
“Neris.”
“He is not Ministry property.”
“I did not say he was.”
“He is not Canadian government property.”
“No.”
“He is not a medical specimen.”
“No.”
“He is not—”
“Neris.”
She stopped.
Ivara waited.
Then spoke more quietly.
“His location may become relevant to public safety, diplomacy and security. That does not erase his rights.”
Neris stared.
Ivara continued.
“If formal contact proceeds, one of the Ministry’s responsibilities will be ensuring those rights survive the attention.”
Neris’s ears shifted.
ER said:
“Define ensuring.”
“Legal liaison. Security coordination. Privacy measures. Controlled access. Explicit consent requirements for medical or research requests.”
“With whom?”
“That depends on which Earth authority receives first contact.”
Neris leaned forward.
“Canada.”
Ivara’s eyes moved to her.
“Explain.”
“He lives in Canada.”
“That is obvious.”
“The contact occurred in Canada.”
“Yes.”
“The medical intervention occurred in Canada.”
“Yes.”
“The ship landed there.”
“Yes.”
“The first local agreements were made there.”
“Yes.”
Neris put down the food container.
“If Xianglume announces itself to an international organization before the government whose territory actually hosted contact, we are telling Canada that its jurisdiction only matters until something becomes globally important.”
Ivara was silent.
ER said:
“I concur.”
Ivara looked toward the speaker.
“Your reasoning?”
“Canada has immediate legitimate legal and territorial interests. A global institution should follow rapidly to avoid unilateral ownership of contact, but bypassing Canada would create avoidable distrust.”
Ivara made another note.
Neris watched.
“You already considered this.”
“We are considering several models.”
“Which?”
“United Nations first. Canadian government first. Parallel notification. Multistate scientific consortium. Orbital public broadcast.”
Neris stared.
“Orbital public broadcast?”
“It has historical precedent.”
“With good outcomes?”
A pause.
“Mixed.”
ER said:
“I recommend removing it from the list.”
Ivara’s beak shifted.
“Already done.”
Neris almost smiled.
Ivara looked at the timeline again.
“There is another question.”
Neris sighed.
“Only one?”
“For now.”
The word HOUSEHOLD appeared on the wall.
Neris’s tail moved.
ER said nothing.
Ivara said:
“This term appears thirty-seven times in the report.”
Neris looked upward.
“ER?”
“Accurate.”
“Why did you count?”
“I did not need to.”
Ivara continued.
“Initially it appears to describe the farmhouse occupants.”
“Yes.”
“Later it includes you.”
“Yes.”
“Later ER.”
“Yes.”
“Later Claire in operational decisions despite not residing there permanently.”
“Yes.”
“Marcel appears adjacent but not included.”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Singh remains trusted external support.”
“Yes.”
Ivara looked toward the speaker.
“ER, you classified Daniel Mercer as household.”
“Yes.”
“Is that a technical category?”
A pause.
“It is now.”
Neris stopped breathing for half a second.
Ivara’s expression softened.
“When did it become one?”
ER answered:
“I do not know.”
“That seems unusual for an AI.”
“Yes.”
“Do you intend to retain the classification?”
“Yes.”
Neris looked at the table.
Her eyes burned.
Ivara did not comment.
She only made a note.
Claire left at three seventeen.
Daniel carried her suitcase to the car.
Claire took it from him halfway down the porch steps.
“You’re not supposed to carry that.”
“It has wheels.”
“You’re holding it.”
“Technicality.”
“Give it.”
Daniel gave it.
Claire loaded the suitcase.
Then another bag.
Then the laptop case.
Daniel stood in his coat, hands in pockets.
The lane had been ploughed.
The sky was flat grey.
Toronto was a long drive.
Not impossible.
That mattered.
Claire shut the trunk.
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
“I can stay.”
“I know.”
“I can work remotely another week.”
“You hate working remotely.”
“I hate your internet.”
“Same thing.”
Claire smiled.
Then her face softened.
“Call me.”
“I will.”
“Not only if something happens.”
Daniel frowned.
“What would I call you about if nothing happened?”
“That is the saddest thing you have said all week.”
“You’ve been here too long.”
Claire hugged him.
Daniel returned it.
No hesitation.
That had changed too.
She held him longer than usual.
“Don’t disappear into usefulness.”
Daniel groaned into her shoulder.
“You and Neris really coordinated.”
“We are both very smart.”
“You’re both bossy.”
“Also true.”
They separated.
Claire opened the driver’s door.
Then stopped.
“Oh.”
She went back to the porch.
Daniel watched her enter the kitchen.
Thirty seconds later she returned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes.
Claire got into the car.
“What did you do?”
“Bye.”
“Claire.”
She closed the door.
Daniel watched the car disappear down the lane.
Then went inside.
Beside the transceiver, on a square of yellow paper, Claire had written:
CALL YOUR SISTER
Below that was her phone number.
Daniel stared at it.
He picked up his phone.
Opened contacts.
CLAIRE
Same number.
He looked at the note.
“Idiot.”
He did not throw it away.
Neris received her father’s message at seventeen twenty-three ship time.
The communications officer called it personal priority.
For one irrational moment Neris thought Daniel.
Then she saw the Xianglume origin identifier.
Family channel.
Her ears went flat.
ER said:
“You have not opened it.”
“I can see that.”
“Your heart rate increased.”
“Stop monitoring my heart.”
“I am currently linked to a science vessel with extensive medical sensors.”
“That was not permission.”
A pause.
“Fair.”
Neris opened the message.
Text only.
No recording.
Very Ormaz.
Her father, Ormaz, had never needed many words to make an opinion unmistakable.
Your mother has cooked enough food for a rescue fleet. Teral, Kaden and Jaydee are here. Lysa arrived yesterday and has rearranged the guest room twice. Jaydee has asked every seventeen minutes when you are coming home.
Neris’s vision blurred.
The next line:
I have been informed that interfering with Ministry procedure would be inappropriate.
She stared.
ER said:
“That sentence appears incomplete.”
The final lines appeared.
I have therefore not interfered with Ministry procedure. Yet.
Come home safely.
Neris laughed.
Then covered her face.
ER said:
“Your father appears threatening.”
“He is being affectionate.”
“That assessment is not supported by the syntax.”
“You have not met him.”
“No.”
“You will understand.”
“I find that unlikely.”
Neris read the message again.
Her mother, Linnea, had apparently responded to Neris’s survival in the most predictable way possible: by cooking.
Teral.
Kaden.
Jaydee asking when.
Lysa rearranging rooms.
Ormaz not interfering.
Yet.
For months, Neris had imagined home as a frozen thing.
Something waiting exactly as she remembered.
Of course it was not.
They had lived without her.
Mourned her.
Rearranged rooms.
Cooked food.
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