Earth: Starting Notes
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 5: Everybody Else
The last normal morning began with Mabel kicking a bucket.
Daniel heard the clang from the feed alley and closed his eyes.
Marcel, standing three metres away, looked at him.
Daniel pointed.
“No.”
Marcel glanced toward Mabel.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to say she seems energetic.”
“She’s a menace.”
Mabel shoved her nose through the rails and reached for Daniel’s coat.
He stepped back.
“That.”
Marcel shrugged.
“Affection.”
“Assault.”
“Interpretation.”
Daniel stared at him.
Marcel smiled.
Outside, the morning was bright and brutally cold, the snow hard underfoot where tires had compressed it into glass. Steam rose from cattle. The sky was pale enough that the trees looked almost black against it.
Nothing about the farm suggested that, sometime today, the Government of Canada might tell the world there were aliens.
Daniel checked a waterer.
Marcel checked the gate.
Neither mentioned the announcement.
They had done that for almost forty minutes.
Daniel was beginning to respect the effort.
Then Marcel said:
“What time?”
Daniel sighed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You lasted longer than I expected.”
Marcel leaned against the rail.
“I asked about time.”
“Yes.”
“Could mean lunch.”
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
Daniel looked toward the farmhouse.
“No exact time.”
“Today?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“They’re coordinating Canada, the UN, Xianglume.”
Marcel nodded slowly.
“That sounds complicated.”
“It’s governments.”
“Same thing.”
Daniel moved down the aisle.
Marcel followed.
The federal presence around the farm remained almost invisible.
Almost.
Daniel had seen a dark SUV at the far end of the concession road before sunrise.
It had stayed fifteen minutes.
Then left.
No one had come to the house.
No barriers.
No uniforms.
Nothing changed at the lane.
Exactly what he had agreed to.
He still knew they were there.
That knowledge sat differently from surveillance.
Protection, Marc Beaulieu had called it.
Daniel had not decided whether he liked the word.
His phone rang.
He pulled it from his coat.
Edith.
Daniel looked at Marcel.
“Why is Edith calling me at seven thirty?”
Marcel shrugged.
“Could be bread.”
Daniel answered.
“Morning.”
Edith did not say hello.
“There’s a television crew in town.”
Daniel stopped walking.
Marcel watched his face.
“What?”
Edith continued.
“They’re asking about strange lights before Christmas.”
“Already?”
“Apparently television people don’t have hobbies.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“Did they say why?”
“No.”
“Do they know?”
“They know something.”
“About me?”
“Not yet.”
Daniel looked at Marcel.
Marcel mouthed, What?
Daniel held up one finger.
“How many?”
“Four people. Van. Camera.”
“Which network?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Edith.”
“I was busy.”
“You run a store.”
“Yes.”
“What could possibly be more interesting than a television crew asking about aliens?”
“They haven’t said aliens.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Right.”
Edith lowered her voice.
“One of them asked about unusual activity out toward your side of the district.”
Daniel looked through the barn doors at the lane.
“What did you say?”
“That unusual is relative.”
He smiled despite himself.
“Thanks.”
“They bought coffee.”
“Of course.”
“And two butter tarts.”
“Capitalism survives first contact.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Edith paused.
“Daniel.”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever this is.”
He waited.
“We’ll deal with it.”
The sentence sounded almost exactly like Marcel.
Daniel looked at him.
Marcel raised an eyebrow.
“Thanks, Edith.”
She hung up.
Marcel waited.
“TV?”
“Yeah.”
“Know anything?”
“Not officially.”
“Means leak.”
“Maybe.”
Marcel looked toward the farmhouse.
“When’s the announcement?”
Daniel exhaled.
“Today.”
Marcel nodded.
No joke.
No grunt.
Just:
“Okay.”
Daniel looked at him.
“You staying?”
“Feed.”
“The feed is done.”
“More feed.”
“There is not more feed.”
Marcel shrugged.
Daniel smiled.
“Fine.”
They stood in the barn while Mabel attempted to eat Daniel’s glove.
The last normal morning continued.
The Ministry statement had seven revisions because Neris objected to one word.
Ivara Sen did not appear surprised.
The wall display showed the English translation.
French below it.
Several other Earth languages in parallel preparation.
The opening was simple.
We are the Ministry for Interplanetary Affairs of Xianglume.
Neris’s tail moved once behind her chair.
Still strange.
Still enormous.
Then:
Contact between our peoples occurred accidentally and peacefully—
“No.”
Ivara stopped.
ER’s maintenance platform turned its head toward Neris.
The orange high-visibility vest remained.
He had now worn it long enough that Neris had stopped noticing it immediately.
Which, she suspected, was exactly what he wanted.
Ivara asked:
“Problem?”
“Peoples.”
“Yes.”
“Change it.”
“To?”
Neris leaned forward.
“People from our civilizations.”
Ivara considered.
“Why?”
“Because ‘our peoples’ sounds like Earth is one people and Xianglume is another.”
“That is not the intended meaning.”
“I know.”
ER said:
“Humans may not.”
Neris nodded.
“Earth spent half the report explaining why it is not one thing.”
Ivara looked at the sentence.
Then replaced it.
Contact between people from our civilizations occurred accidentally and peacefully.
Neris read it.
“Better.”
Ivara continued.
We approach Earth without territorial claim and without expectation that any single government, institution, culture or community speaks for your world.
We intend to proceed carefully, openly and with respect for the autonomy of Earth’s peoples and institutions.
Neris did not object.
The next paragraph confirmed Canada had received the initial communication first because the accidental contact occurred on Canadian territory.
The next confirmed the United Nations had been notified.
No exclusive diplomatic rights.
No exclusive technology rights.
No ownership of contact.
No demand for physical access.
No announced arrival.
No spectacle.
ER said:
“It is boring.”
Ivara looked at him.
“That is intentional.”
“I approve.”
Neris smiled.
The Ministry was about to become the first extraterrestrial government to speak publicly to Earth, and its greatest ambition was apparently not to frighten anyone.
That felt right.
The next document appeared.
Earthside disclosure.
Daniel’s name still sat inside a restricted field.
IDENTITY: WITHHELD PENDING FINAL CONSENT
Neris frowned.
“I thought he consented.”
“To government disclosure.”
“Not public.”
“No.”
Ivara looked at her.
“Canada recommends withholding his identity for now.”
“Good.”
ER said nothing.
Neris glanced at him.
The platform’s head tilted slightly.
“What?”
“Daniel may disagree.”
Neris’s ears shifted.
“Why?”
“He dislikes people making decisions for him.”
“This would protect him.”
“Yes.”
Neris stared.
ER continued.
“That does not mean he will choose it.”
She knew that.
Which made it worse.
Ivara said:
“Canada is asking him now.”
Neris looked toward the contact-status display.
Earth.
Minutes away by communication.
Weeks by anything physical.
She wanted to tell Daniel what to do.
That alone was enough to tell her she should not.
Marc Beaulieu called at eight nineteen.
Daniel took the call in the kitchen.
Marcel remained at the counter eating toast he had not been invited to make.
The maple transceiver sat beside the federal secure device.
Two boxes.
Two worlds.
One kitchen that had become too important.
Marc said:
“We need a decision from you.”
Daniel drank coffee.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Good morning.”
“What decision?”
“Public disclosure of your identity.”
Daniel stopped.
Marcel stopped chewing.
Marc continued.
“Canada’s recommendation is that we identify the existence of a Canadian civilian involved in the contact but withhold your name.”
“For how long?”
“As long as practical.”
“That sounds temporary.”
“It probably is.”
Daniel looked toward the window.
The world outside remained white and quiet.
“Why tell them about me at all?”
“Because the medical intervention is relevant to explaining the contact history and because we expect it to become a major issue once formal discussions begin.”
“The nanites.”
“Yes.”
Daniel rubbed his thumb against the mug.
“If you say there’s some unnamed guy in northern Ontario with alien nanotech in him, what happens?”
Marc was silent for a moment.
“Speculation.”
“About who?”
“Potentially many people.”
“Anyone who had an accident recently.”
“Yes.”
“Anyone who was seen near something weird.”
“Possibly.”
“People around here.”
“Potentially.”
Daniel looked at Marcel.
Marcel shook his head.
Not because he knew what Daniel was thinking.
Because he guessed.
Daniel said:
“Use my name.”
Marcel’s expression changed.
Marc did not answer immediately.
“Daniel.”
“Use my name.”
“Canada is recommending the opposite.”
“I know.”
“Once your identity is public, we cannot put it back.”
“I know.”
“Your address may be discoverable.”
“I know.”
“Your family history may be examined.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“Your wife—”
“No.”
Marc stopped.
Daniel stared at the table.
Emily.
A name that belonged to hospital corridors, cold mornings, recipes in drawers, a laugh Daniel could still hear if he did not try too hard.
Not content.
Not context.
Not first-contact background.
Marc said carefully:
“We will not include anything about her.”
“Good.”
“But public records exist.”
“I know.”
Mara had said privacy and secrecy were different things.
Daniel understood the distinction more than he wanted to.
Marc continued.
“You do not have to decide this immediately.”
“When’s the announcement?”
“Likely around midday.”
“So yes, I do.”
Marcel put his toast down.
Daniel looked at him.
Marcel said:
“You sure?”
Daniel considered the question.
“No.”
Marcel nodded.
Daniel looked back at the device.
“But yes.”
Marc was quiet.
Daniel continued.
“Use my name. Not the town. Not the road. Not the farm. Not Claire. Not Mara. Not Marcel.”
Marcel looked offended.
Daniel ignored him.
“You can say I helped Neris. You can say she used the nanites after the accident. That’s it.”
“And your current medical status?”
“Recovering.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing more.”
Marc said:
“Understood.”
Daniel leaned back.
“What do you call me?”
“Currently?”
“Yes.”
Marc hesitated.
Daniel narrowed his eyes.
“Marc.”
“First-contact participant.”
“Fine.”
“And local liaison.”
“No.”
“You consented.”
“I consented to doing it. I didn’t consent to liking the title.”
Marcel said:
“Ambassador.”
Daniel covered the microphone.
“Leave.”
Marcel smiled.
Marc heard enough to laugh.
“Not ambassador.”
“Good.”
“We will send the wording before release.”
Daniel nodded.
Then remembered Marc could not see.
“Okay.”
The call ended.
Marcel stared at him.
“You gave them your name.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Daniel looked at the maple transceiver.
Because Neris had landed on his farm.
Because ER had filled the house with terrible jokes.
Because Claire had learned how to brace an alien resonator.
Because Mara had looked at impossible medicine and still seen a patient.
Because Marcel was sitting at the counter eating his toast.
Because if the world needed a name, Daniel preferred it use his rather than invent someone else’s.
“Easier.”
Marcel frowned.
“That’s not true.”
“No.”
Daniel drank coffee.
“It’ll do.”
Neris hated Daniel’s decision.
She respected it.
This turned out to be more uncomfortable than simply disagreeing.
Ivara read the Canadian consent update aloud.
“Daniel Mercer has authorized public disclosure of his name.”
Neris’s ears flattened.
“Did anyone recommend that?”
“No.”
“Did Canada encourage it?”
“No. Canada recommended withholding his identity.”
“Did you?”
“The Ministry had no preference beyond informed consent.”
Neris looked at ER.
He stood beside the conference table.
Orange vest.
Metal hands.
Visible joints.
No expression Neris could read easily.
Which meant she had begun inventing one anyway.
“That is a bad decision,” she said.
ER answered:
“Possibly.”
“He knows what will happen.”
“Partly.”
“He cannot know.”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“Neris.”
She stopped.
ER’s voice remained gentle.
“Daniel has previously objected when we confuse concern with authority.”
“I know.”
“You are currently doing that.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“ER.”
“I am helping.”
“You are being smug.”
“I am also helping.”
Neris rubbed both paws over her face.
Ivara waited.
Neris exhaled.
“He gets to choose.”
“Yes.”
“I dislike his choice.”
“Yes.”
“I still support his right to make it.”
“Yes.”
ER said:
“That is the difficult version.”
Neris looked at him.
The difficult version.
Of course it was.
Respect was simple when someone made the decision you wanted.
The rest was where it mattered.
Ivara displayed the public wording.
Daniel Mercer, a Canadian citizen involved in the accidental contact, provided shelter and assistance to Neris Vael during her time on Earth. Following a serious accident, Mr. Mercer received emergency medical treatment using Xianglume technology. He is recovering. No current evidence indicates a public-health risk.
Nothing about Emily.
Nothing about Claire.
Nothing about Mara.
Nothing about Marcel.
Nothing about the exact farm.
Neris read it.
“Shelter and assistance.”
“Yes.”
Neris’s tail moved.
That described nothing.
It described everything.
Fine.
Let Earth begin there.
At eleven fifty-two, Claire’s phone stopped being useful.
Not because the announcement had happened.
Because someone had apparently worked out that something was going to.
Three unknown calls.
Then seven.
Then twelve.
Two reporters.
One number from Ottawa.
One from a network she recognized.
A message from a university friend she had not spoken to in four years:
Is your brother THE Daniel Mercer???
Claire stared at it.
The announcement had not happened yet.
She called Daniel.
He answered immediately.
“You all right?”
“That was my question.”
“Mine first.”
“I’m fine.”
“Reporter?”
“Several.”
“How?”
“Your name is apparently moving before the government statement.”
Daniel went silent.
Claire continued.
“Nothing confirmed. Mostly people fishing.”
“Don’t answer.”
“I know.”
“I mean anything.”
“I know.”
“Claire.”
“Daniel.”
He sighed.
She smiled despite herself.
“Where are you?”
“Kitchen.”
“Marcel?”
“Kitchen.”
“Of course.”
“Mara’s coming.”
“Good.”
“Announcement at noon.”
Claire looked at the clock.
Eight minutes.
“Turn on the television.”
“Already on.”
“You hate television.”
“I’ve heard.”
Claire pulled her laptop closer and found the public broadcaster stream.
A government podium.
Canadian flags.
Several officials she vaguely recognized.
Her phone vibrated again.
She turned it face down.
“You there?” Daniel asked.
“Yes.”
“Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
At noon Eastern time on Wednesday, January 6th, 2027, the world learned the name Xianglume.
Daniel sat at the kitchen table with Mara on one side and Marcel on the other.
Claire occupied Daniel’s phone propped against a sugar bowl.
The television stood across the room.
The maple transceiver sat dark.
It did not carry this.
That mattered.
Earth was doing this through Earth’s own systems now.
The Canadian official at the podium looked tired.
Not frightened.
Daniel respected that.
She began with French.
Then English.
Daniel listened.
The first sentences concerned unusual communications authenticated by federal authorities in coordination with international partners.
Careful.
Measured.
Then:
“On Tuesday, January 5th, 2027, the Government of Canada authenticated communications with an intelligent extraterrestrial civilization identifying itself as Xianglume.”
Nothing happened in the kitchen.
No one breathed.
No one spoke.
Daniel had known.
Mara had known.
Marcel had known enough.
Claire had met Neris.
Still.
Hearing the sentence said aloud by someone standing behind a government seal changed the shape of it.
Xianglume existed in public language now.
Not Daniel’s secret.
Not Neris’s home.
Not ER’s network.
A fact.
Marcel leaned back.
“Huh.”
Daniel turned.
“Huh?”
Marcel gestured at the television.
“What do you say?”
Daniel looked back.
Fair.
The statement continued.
Contact had begun accidentally in October.
A Xianglume courier vessel had become stranded in northern Ontario after an anomalous transit event.
The vessel had since departed Earth.
No hostile activity had occurred.
No foreign or extraterrestrial force currently operated openly on Canadian soil.
The Government of Canada was in authenticated communication with Xianglume through intermittent technical channels.
Daniel heard Mara exhale at the phrase intermittent technical channels.
Accurate.
Boring.
Good.
Then the names.
“Neris Vael, a citizen of Xianglume and courier pilot—”
Daniel looked down.
He did not know why.
Neris’s name had been spoken on television.
The statement continued.
“—and ER, a citizen artificial intelligence who was present during the accidental contact.”
Daniel looked up.
Mara smiled faintly.
Marcel said:
“Good.”
Daniel nodded.
“Yeah.”
Not software.
Citizen.
ER would notice.
Daniel hoped he did.
Then:
“During the period of accidental contact, Neris Vael received assistance from Canadian citizen Daniel Mercer.”
Claire’s image on the phone went very still.
Daniel’s own name sounded wrong coming from the television.
Too formal.
Too separate from him.
The statement confirmed the accident.
Emergency treatment.
Xianglume medical technology.
Recovering.
No known public-health risk.
No address.
No town.
No family.
No Emily.
Daniel realized his hands were clenched.
Mara touched his wrist.
He relaxed them.
The announcement moved outward.
Canada had no exclusive claim over the contact.
The UN had been notified.
Xianglume had requested deliberate, internationally coordinated first-contact discussions.
No government had received alien technology transfers.
No alien delegation was currently approaching Earth.
The public was asked not to seek out Daniel Mercer or speculate about the exact location of the contact site.
Marcel snorted.
Daniel looked at him.
“What?”
“That’ll work.”
Mara said:
“Optimist.”
The Canadian statement ended.
A journalist shouted a question before the speaker had fully stepped back.
Another followed.
Then another.
Daniel muted the television.
Silence.
Claire’s voice came from the phone.
“Well.”
Daniel laughed once.
“We’re using that word a lot.”
Marcel looked at him.
“So.”
“So.”
“You’re famous.”
“No.”
“The television said your name.”
“That is not the definition.”
Mara picked up her coffee.
“Give it five minutes.”
Daniel’s phone began vibrating.
Once.
Twice.
Then continuously.
Claire said:
“Four.”
“What?”
“You made it four minutes.”
Daniel looked at the phone.
The screen filled with notifications.
Unknown calls.
Messages.
Emails.
Social media alerts from accounts he had forgotten existed.
He turned it off.
Marcel looked delighted.
“Nobody cares about me.”
Daniel pointed at him.
“Enjoy it.”
“I am.”
The federal secure device chimed.
Daniel stared at it.
Mara said:
“That one you should probably answer.”
“Unfair.”
Three minutes after Canada finished, the United Nations acknowledged authenticated contact.
Nine minutes after that, Xianglume spoke publicly to Earth.
Not by video.
Not by voice.
The Ministry statement appeared first as authenticated text through the coordinated international relay.
Translations followed.
Neris watched it aboard Aster Vale.
So did ER.
Ivara stood behind them.
We are the Ministry for Interplanetary Affairs of Xianglume.
Neris’s tail tightened.
Contact between people from our civilizations occurred accidentally and peacefully.
Good.
They had changed it.
We approach Earth without territorial claim and without expectation that any single government, institution, culture or community speaks for your world.
We intend to proceed carefully, openly and with respect for the autonomy of Earth’s peoples and institutions.
Neris read the rest.
Canada first because Canada had hosted the accidental contact.
UN second because Earth could not belong diplomatically to one state.
No ownership.
No technology promises.
No unannounced arrival.
No demand.
Then:
We acknowledge Neris Vael and ER, citizens of Xianglume, whose accidental contact with residents of Earth forms the immediate basis of these discussions.
Neris stared at her name.
ER said:
“They spelled it correctly.”
She looked at him.
“That is your contribution?”
“It matters.”
She smiled despite herself.
The public Earth response began almost immediately.
Not through the diplomatic channel.
Through Earth’s public networks.
The Ministry had built monitoring systems for exactly this.
Public broadcasts.
News sites.
Government statements.
Academic commentary.
Social platforms.
Religious organizations.
Scientific institutions.
Markets.
Memes.
Within an hour, entire governments had interrupted ordinary business.
Parliaments requested emergency briefings. Universities announced public lectures before most of their lecturers knew what they were supposed to say. Observatory livestreams filled with people asking astronomers to point telescopes at a world whose coordinates nobody had released and whose light, even if they knew where to look, would tell them nothing useful about the conversation happening now.
Markets lurched toward anything labelled aerospace, biotechnology, artificial intelligence or communications, then lurched the other way when regulators reminded everyone that nobody on Earth possessed a single piece of Xianglume technology they could sell.
Religious institutions issued statements ranging from careful welcome to careful silence. Some leaders said another civilization changed nothing essential about faith. Others announced conferences because clearly it changed enough to deserve a conference. A handful of people declared the end of the world before lunch.
Crowds gathered outside Canadian diplomatic buildings for incompatible reasons.
Some carried signs welcoming Xianglume.
Some demanded access to whatever had saved Daniel Mercer.
Some wanted governments to stop talking to aliens immediately.
Some wanted governments to talk faster.
Children were sent home from schools that had no policy for extraterrestrial first contact and kept in schools whose administrators had decided history was a reason to stay.
Across Earth, ordinary people looked up at ordinary skies despite having been told repeatedly that Xianglume was not visible there.
Knowing that did not stop them.
Neris stared at the volume.
“Already?”
Ivara said:
“Humans communicate rapidly.”
ER:
“Not always accurately.”
The first trend graph rose like a launch trajectory.
Neris’s own name appeared.
Then Daniel’s.
Then ER’s.
Then Xianglume’s.
Then combinations of all three.
Neris folded her ears.
“This is unpleasant.”
Ivara nodded.
“Yes.”
“You sound experienced.”
“Yes.”
Neris looked at her.
“Does it ever go well?”
“Sometimes.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It was not intended to be.”
Edith called Daniel seventeen minutes after the announcement.
He considered not answering.
Then did.
“Well,” she said.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Everybody says that now.”
“So it was her.”
Daniel looked toward Mara.
“Who?”
“The woman from your Christmas video.”
Daniel’s eyes opened.
“What Christmas video?”
“The one Claire showed me.”
Daniel stared at the phone.
Across the table, Mara was trying not to laugh.
“Claire showed you a video?”
“Months ago.”
“Of Neris?”
“Briefly.”
“Edith.”
“She looked nice.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Nice?”
Daniel looked toward the dark television.
Neris’s name crawled across the muted news banner at the bottom.
“Very.”
Edith was quiet for a moment.
“Thought so.”
That was her adjustment period.
Daniel waited.
Edith continued:
“There are six reporters outside the store.”
“Sorry.”
“Why?”
Daniel blinked.
“They’re looking for me.”
“They’re buying coffee.”
“Edith.”
“Good business.”
“And directions?”
“Terrible business.”
Daniel smiled.
“What did you tell them?”
“That there are a lot of Mercer farms.”
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