Earth: Starting Notes
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 3: The People Who Know
The maple transceiver sent Daniel’s messages while he was thirty-eight kilometres away.
He took that personally.
Mara’s clinic occupied one end of a low brick building that also contained a physiotherapy practice, a dentist, and an accounting office whose window displayed a handwritten sign reminding people that tax season did not constitute an emergency.
Daniel sat on the edge of an examination table while Mara pressed two fingers against the healing line beneath his ribs.
“Breathe.”
“I am.”
“More.”
Daniel inhaled.
Pain pulled lightly beneath the left side of his chest.
Not sharp anymore.
Deep.
Old enough that his body had started treating it as information rather than threat.
Mara listened.
“Again.”
Daniel breathed.
She moved the stethoscope.
“Again.”
“I’m beginning to think you enjoy this.”
“I enjoy lungs that continue functioning.”
“Low standards.”
Mara straightened.
“Your lung sounds normal.”
Daniel pulled his shirt down.
“Excellent.”
“That did not mean you can lift feed sacks.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking about lunch.”
“Liar.”
Daniel smiled.
His monitor rested on the counter beside Mara’s tablet.
The status remained green.
Bone repair active.
Inflammation declining.
Nanite activity stable.
Human biology continuing to do something no human medical textbook could properly describe.
Mara glanced at the monitor.
“Any new messages?”
“No.”
“When’s the next window?”
“Somewhere between this morning and tomorrow afternoon.”
“That precise?”
“Apparently dimensional communication has the scheduling habits of a plumber.”
Mara gave him a look.
Daniel continued.
“My messages are queued.”
“What did you send?”
“Personal things.”
“I meant the medical packet.”
“That too.”
“Good.”
Daniel looked toward the clinic window.
Snow had collected in the parking lot along the edges where the plough pushed it.
Normal cars.
Normal building.
Normal people waiting in normal rooms.
He had forgotten how strange ordinary places could feel.
Mara followed his gaze.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.”
“You said that correctly.”
Daniel looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“You usually say it too quickly.”
“Claire has been talking to you.”
“Everyone has been talking to everyone.”
Daniel sighed.
“Small communities were a mistake.”
Mara put the monitor back into its case.
“You live in northern Ontario.”
“I’ve noticed.”
His phone vibrated.
Daniel looked at the screen.
Marcel.
He answered.
“What?”
Marcel said:
“Your alien box sent something.”
Daniel stood.
Too fast.
Mara caught his arm.
“Sit.”
Daniel sat.
“What?”
“The box,” Marcel repeated. “Lights came on.”
“You were in my house?”
“No.”
Daniel waited.
Marcel said:
“I went to check the furnace.”
“Why?”
“Because it was making that sound.”
“What sound?”
“The one you ignore.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“What did it say?”
“Queue empty.”
Daniel’s heart changed rhythm.
Not enough for the monitor to alarm.
Enough that Mara noticed.
“It sent?”
“Looks like.”
“Both messages?”
“Two went out.”
Daniel exhaled.
His reply to Neris.
His reply to ER.
Somewhere now beyond the farm, beyond Earth, beyond whatever shape space took between worlds.
“Anything coming back?”
“No.”
“Window still open?”
“Not anymore.”
Daniel looked at Mara.
She had heard enough from his side of the conversation to understand.
“Of course,” Daniel said.
Marcel asked:
“What?”
“It waited until I left.”
“Machines don’t do that.”
“You’ve met ER.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
A pause.
“No.”
Daniel smiled.
“Don’t touch anything.”
“I’ve already touched the coffee machine.”
“Dangerous.”
“Home when?”
“Hour.”
“I’ll feed Mabel.”
“Don’t encourage her.”
“She likes me.”
“She likes everybody she can physically inconvenience.”
Marcel hung up.
Mara folded her arms.
“You were going to drive home immediately.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Daniel picked up his coat.
“I was already leaving.”
“You were here for physiotherapy after this.”
Daniel stopped.
“That seems excessive.”
“It’s twenty minutes.”
“Mara.”
“Daniel.”
He stared.
She smiled.
“Aliens waited twelve days. They can wait twenty minutes.”
Daniel sat back down.
“Cruel.”
“Alive.”
He looked at the monitor.
Green.
Then at the phone.
Somewhere, his words had started moving.
That would have to be enough until the universe opened again.
Neris was halfway through explaining why Daniel had refused broader nanite access when ER interrupted the Ministry.
Not technically interrupted.
ER was incapable of technically interrupting.
He simply placed an authenticated alert on the room display at a priority level that caused every other information layer to move aside.
On the wall display, Senior Contact Assessor Ivara Sen stopped speaking.
The wall changed.
INCOMING PERSONAL TRAFFIC
ORIGIN: MERCER TRANSCEIVER
Neris was standing before she understood that she had moved.
Ivara looked at ER’s interface.
“Is there an emergency?”
“No.”
“Then why did you elevate it?”
“Established household protocol.”
Ivara turned toward Neris.
“There is a household protocol?”
Neris’s ears lifted.
ER said:
“There is now.”
Ivara looked at him for three seconds.
Then:
“Very well.”
Neris tried not to smile.
Failed.
“Open it.”
ER authenticated the packet.
Daniel’s first message appeared.
Superficial is doing a lot of work there. Mara wants details when possible. Glad Takuhai is repairable. Tell ER the radiator was his best feature. I love you too. No rush. Get home first. I’ll be here.
Neris stopped breathing at the final four words.
Not because they were new.
Because they were not.
I’ll be here.
Daniel had said it before.
He had lived it.
The farm.
The kitchen.
The bed.
The clearing.
The transceiver.
He had not turned the sentence into a demand.
Not come back before you settle.
Not come back before you remember where you belong.
No rush.
Get home first.
The one that needs you first.
Neris lowered herself into the chair.
Ivara looked away.
A deliberate courtesy.
ER said:
“The technical assessment concerning the radiator is incorrect.”
Neris laughed.
Her eyes burned.
“You saved the message.”
“For evidentiary purposes.”
“You saved it.”
“Yes.”
“You like it.”
“No.”
Ivara said:
“I am beginning to understand why the report contains a humour section.”
ER ignored her.
A second message appeared.
Your reputation survived worse. Radiator stays. Pun ratings remain accurate. Come argue with me.
ER paused.
Neris looked toward the speaker.
“I will note that Daniel Mercer continues to demonstrate poor engineering judgment.”
“You are saving that one too.”
“Yes.”
“For evidence.”
“Yes.”
Ivara’s feathers shifted.
“Should we continue?”
Neris looked at Daniel’s message one more time.
No rush.
Get home first.
She closed it.
“Yes.”
The room returned to the Ministry briefing.
But not quite.
Something had changed.
Distance had entered the room and become smaller.
Ivara brought the previous discussion back onto the wall.
Daniel’s medical intervention.
Nanite persistence.
Consent.
“Dr. Singh requested further injury details concerning you,” Ivara said.
Neris blinked.
“Mara?”
“The medical packet she authorized included that request.”
Neris looked at ER.
“When?”
“The same Earth window.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“The personal message had greater emotional relevance.”
Ivara’s eyes moved between them.
“Household protocol again?”
“Yes.”
Neris said:
“Do not encourage him.”
Ivara did not look amused.
Which meant she probably was.
Neris pulled up her medical assessment.
Three superficial lacerations.
One cheek.
Two along the shoulder and upper arm.
No retained fragments.
No fracture.
No infection.
No neurological injury.
No vascular injury.
Cleared for unrestricted ordinary activity and restricted flight duty pending sleep normalization.
Neris frowned at the last line.
“Restricted?”
ER said:
“You slept four hours last cycle.”
“That is unrelated.”
“It is literally related.”
Ivara said:
“Would you like to send the report?”
“Only the summary.”
ER prepared it.
Neris added:
Mara may review. Daniel may review. No broader medical distribution.
Ivara noticed.
“Explicit restriction.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Neris looked at her.
“You sound pleased.”
“Good habits matter most before anyone needs them.”
That stayed with Neris.
Because Earth did not yet know enough to need all the habits Xianglume had spent centuries learning.
Soon it would.
Daniel returned to the farm just after one.
The transceiver display read:
OUTBOUND QUEUE: EMPTY
Below it:
DELIVERY ACKNOWLEDGMENT: PENDING
He stood in the kitchen with his coat still on.
Marcel sat at the table drinking Daniel’s coffee.
“You’re using my mug.”
“It was clean.”
“That’s not the point.”
Marcel looked at the display.
“You sent your thing.”
“Apparently.”
“You mad you missed it?”
Daniel removed his coat.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to see it go.”
Marcel considered.
“Would it have looked different?”
“No.”
“Then?”
Daniel looked at him.
Marcel lifted both hands.
“Fine.”
Daniel hung his coat.
The saleth oil sat beside Neris’s brush.
Claire’s yellow note remained on the table.
CALL YOUR SISTER
He had called her the previous night.
She had still texted him that morning.
The note stayed.
Daniel sat.
“What’s Ed hearing?”
Marcel’s expression changed.
“More questions.”
“Same people?”
“Some.”
“Press?”
“Maybe.”
“Government?”
Marcel shrugged.
“There was a guy in town asking which road led out toward your place.”
Daniel looked toward the kitchen window.
“What did people say?”
“That there are lots of roads.”
Daniel smiled despite himself.
“Helpful.”
“Ed told him one road goes north.”
“Does it?”
“Eventually.”
Daniel looked at Marcel.
“You’re all enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You are.”
Marcel drank coffee.
“People from outside come into town asking where somebody lives, they don’t get directions.”
“Since when?”
“Since always.”
Daniel thought.
That was probably true.
“Even before aliens?”
Marcel looked offended.
“Especially before aliens.”
Daniel laughed.
The sound carried farther through the kitchen than he expected.
Marcel watched him.
“You’re better.”
Daniel looked at the transceiver.
“Different.”
“That too.”
A truck passed at the end of the lane.
Did not slow.
Daniel waited until it disappeared.
“Can’t keep people away forever.”
Marcel nodded.
“No.”
“Eventually somebody finds the farm.”
“Probably.”
“Media.”
“Probably.”
“Government.”
“Definitely.”
Daniel rubbed his beard.
Marcel said:
“Then we deal with it.”
“We?”
Marcel shrugged.
“You’ve got cows.”
“That’s your reasoning?”
“Good enough.”
Daniel looked at him.
There it was again.
No speeches.
No oath of secrecy.
No organized defence.
Just a community that considered outsiders asking questions about one of its own to be faintly rude.
Daniel had underestimated the protective potential of nosiness.
The Ministry’s draft announcement did not begin with Earth.
It began with mistakes.
Neris had expected a polished protocol.
On the wall display, Ivara opened the next session by displaying four first-contact case summaries.
No names.
No identifying species data.
Only failures.
One civilization had been contacted through its most technologically powerful state because Xianglume officials had assumed capacity equalled legitimacy.
It had taken forty-two years to repair the political damage.
Another had received medical technology too early.
A treatment harmless under supervised clinical use had become a status symbol among the wealthy and a coercive labour requirement among the poor.
Another contact had begun with an orbital broadcast intended to demonstrate transparency.
Three governments interpreted it as a strategic warning.
One mobilized weapons.
A fourth case had gone well.
Neris noticed that one came last.
The first contact team had begun locally, acknowledged territorial and cultural authority, expanded representation gradually, and refused exclusive agreements with the initial state.
Ivara closed the summaries.
“This is why the Ministry exists.”
Neris looked at the blank screen.
“How many?”
“First contacts?”
“Yes.”
Ivara’s head tilted.
“That number is not relevant to this briefing.”
“Which means large.”
“Which means classified in aggregate.”
ER said:
“That is bureaucratic.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for confirming.”
Ivara ignored him.
The first-contact draft appeared.
INITIAL CONTACT SEQUENCE
PRIMARY AUTHENTICATED NOTICE: GOVERNMENT OF CANADA
SECONDARY AUTHENTICATED NOTICE: UNITED NATIONS
RECOMMENDED INTERVAL: 4–8 HOURS
Neris’s ears lifted.
“Four?”
“Minimum currently considered operationally responsible.”
“Why not simultaneous?”
“Authentication.”
Ivara expanded the explanation.
Canada would receive a controlled contact packet first.
Enough information to establish authenticity.
Enough to identify the physical and legal context.
Enough to prevent Canadian institutions learning that extraterrestrial contact had occurred on Canadian territory through an announcement addressed elsewhere.
But not enough time for Canada to construct an exclusive bilateral arrangement.
The United Nations would follow within hours.
The initial packet would explicitly state that first notification conferred no exclusive diplomatic, technological or commercial rights.
Neris read that twice.
“Good.”
Ivara looked toward her.
“We would also notify relevant indigenous representatives once the local jurisdictional context is established.”
Neris paused.
“Not through Canada?”
“Not only through Canada.”
Daniel had said something similar at the kitchen table.
Borders were real.
Governments were real.
So were communities those borders did not fully represent.
Neris nodded.
“Good.”
The next section appeared.
EARTHSIDE HUMAN CONTACT: DANIEL MERCER
Neris’s tail went still.
Under it:
STATUS: PRIMARY HUMAN CONTACT SUBJECT
“No.”
Ivara looked at her.
ER said simultaneously:
“Objection.”
The term disappeared.
Ivara’s beak shifted.
“I expected that.”
“You left it in to see if we objected.”
“Yes.”
“That is manipulative.”
“Assessment technique.”
ER said:
“Manipulative assessment technique.”
Ivara ignored him.
“Preferred terminology?”
Neris looked at the blank field.
Daniel was not a subject.
Not a witness in the narrow sense.
Not an asset.
Not a patient first.
Not representative of humanity.
Not diplomat.
Not evidence.
“Participant.”
Ivara typed.
FIRST-CONTACT PARTICIPANT
ER said:
“Local liaison.”
Neris nodded.
Ivara added:
LOCAL LIAISON — VOLUNTARY
Neris read the line.
Better.
Ivara expanded the rights section.
NO INVOLUNTARY QUARANTINE RECOMMENDED
NO INVOLUNTARY MEDICAL ISOLATION RECOMMENDED
NO PROTECTIVE CUSTODY RECOMMENDED ABSENT SPECIFIC IMMEDIATE THREAT
NO RESEARCH ACCESS WITHOUT INFORMED CONSENT
NO NANITE SAMPLING WITHOUT INFORMED CONSENT
NO DISCLOSURE OF PRIVATE MEDICAL RECORDS WITHOUT INFORMED CONSENT
Neris looked at Ivara.
“Recommended.”
“Yes.”
“Why not required?”
“Because Xianglume has no legal jurisdiction in Canada.”
“Then what stops them?”
“Nothing automatically.”
Neris’s ears flattened.
Ivara continued before she could speak.
“But cooperation can be conditional.”
The wording changed.
XIANGLUME WILL NOT PROVIDE MEDICAL, TECHNICAL OR FIRST-CONTACT COOPERATION INVOLVING DANIEL MERCER WITHOUT HIS INFORMED CONSENT.
Neris sat back.
That was different.
Not an order.
A boundary.
Earth could make its own decisions.
Xianglume could decide what it would participate in.
ER said:
“Acceptable.”
Neris looked toward the speaker.
“Only acceptable?”
“I reserve praise until implementation.”
Ivara said:
“Sensible.”
ER paused.
“You are becoming irritating.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The next question appeared.
WHAT INFORMATION MAY BE DISCLOSED?
Neris frowned.
“That should be Daniel’s decision.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is it here?”
“Because we need to ask him.”
Neris’s ears shifted.
Ivara continued.
“We do not intend to notify his government that he exists within first-contact documentation without informing him first.”
“Good.”
“The current transceiver cannot support a full legal consultation.”
“No.”
“So we need immediate consent categories.”
The list appeared.
Name.
Location.
Medical status.
Nanite status.
Contact details.
Related individuals.
Neris stared.
“He will hate this.”
ER said:
“Yes.”
Ivara asked:
“Will he answer?”
“Yes.”
Neris thought.
“He may insult the questionnaire.”
Ivara nodded.
“That is permitted.”
ER said:
“I recommend adding that line.”
Neris received her father’s message just before evening meal.
The family-channel indicator appeared while she was walking back toward Takuhai.
She stopped in the corridor.
Her father.
The relationship came first.
The name came with memory.
Ormaz at the kitchen table in her childhood home, pretending not to notice when his daughters stole food from his plate.
Ormaz teaching Neris how to file a civil-service complaint because she had come home at thirteen furious about an unfair school transport rule.
Ormaz telling her bureaucracy was simply machinery made of people, and like all machinery it failed at its weakest assumptions.
She opened the message.
I understand the Ministry is preparing formal Earth contact.
Neris closed her eyes.
“Of course you do.”
ER’s voice came from the corridor speaker.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“You sound resigned.”
“Read.”
ER did.
The next line:
I know I said I would not interfere. Technically, I have not. I have merely spoken to people I used to work with.
ER said:
“That distinction appears fraudulent.”
Neris laughed.
“Continue.”
Your mother says this is interfering.
Neris smiled.
Her mother, Linnea, had spent years as a nurse before becoming a stay-at-home mother while Neris and her sisters were growing up. She believed most problems improved after eating.
Apparently retirement, presumed death and interplanetary crisis had not changed that.
Neris read on.
Linnea has asked me to tell you that the soup freezes well and there is no reason Ministry work should prevent regular meals.
Neris laughed harder.
ER said:
“I like your mother.”
“You have never met her.”
“I approve of the operational principle.”
The message continued.
Teral agrees with your mother. Lysa says they are both being unbearable. Jaydee has made a sign for your room and refuses to show anyone until you arrive. Kaden has repaired the downstairs door you said was sticking three years ago. I had forgotten it was sticking.
Neris’s eyes burned.
Home moving without her.
Fixing things.
Preparing.
The final section changed tone.
One other matter.
Neris straightened.
The Ministry may ask you to serve as Earth contact adviser. Helping because you choose to help is not the same as becoming obligated because you were there first. Remember the difference.
Neris read it twice.
Her tail curled toward her legs.
ER said nothing.
Ormaz knew institutions.
Thirty-seven years of civil service had taught him something Neris was only beginning to understand.
Useful people became necessary.
Necessary people became expected.
Expectations became obligations without anyone ever deliberately deciding it.
Her father had spent his life inside that machinery.
He knew where it pinched.
Come home before you decide how much of the universe you intend to reorganize.
Neris smiled.
“That is affectionate too?” ER asked.
“Yes.”
“I remain sceptical.”
She saved the message.
“His name is Ormaz.”
“I know.”
“You have not met him.”
“No.”
“You will.”
ER paused.
“Is that a threat?”
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