I hope this will give you all a little light and enjoyable reading as I once again try my hand at writing a short sci-fi story. Previous attempts here, here, and here.
The two deep space vessels sat silently in the airless void of space, facing each other discreetly. Neither ship moved as their respective crews sized each other up across the range of the electromagnetic spectrum, the 50,000 kilometers that separated them doing nothing to hide their secrets. First contact was always a little boring, at least in the initial stages, and Captain Lactantius MacReady of the Galactic Confederation of Sentients was treating this instance no differently. He yawned and studied his fingernails.
In truth, while there were always unknown factors in play, in nearly all cases first contacts such as the present one presented little actual danger for vessels of the Confederation. After a few centuries, humanity had the process of meeting new aliens down to a science. For see, the question which the ancients of Earth had always asked themselves - “Are we alone in the galaxy?” - had been answered robustly not long after man had left the cradle of his home star system. Indeed, the galaxy was positively brimming with intelligent alien life. Everywhere they turned, humanity was stumbling upon new sentient species, usually as those beings themselves were just venturing into space. Twice or thrice every year, some far flung deep space sensor array would detect the telltale signature of a primitive FTL drive in some uncharted star system on the edge of Confederation space. A scouting vessel would be dispatched shortly after and yet another race of starry-eyed primitives would be introduced to the wider galaxy, for good or for ill. Captain MacReady had already overseen seven such contacts just during his tenure as commander of the GCSS Darby O’Gill. Today’s events would make the eighth notch on his commbelt.
“Captain, our preliminary scans of the unknown vessel are complete.”
MacReady snapped out of his reverie when Ensign Solweg spoke.
“What do we have, Ensign?”
Solweg delivered his report and as expected, the vessel conformed to no known structural configuration in Confederation databanks, meaning this was a genuine first contact and not just some one-off freighter or other civilian vessel. The hull and other systems were composed of standard alloys, nothing that stood out technologically. Barely a fifth the mass of the Confederation scout cruiser, she was armed with primitive lasers, protected by nearly non-existent deflector screens, and sported a crude ripple drive that was probably capable of no more than 20c or so. Obviously a race just taking its first steps beyond their own Kuiper belt, probably hailing from the yellow G-class star a couple of light years to spinward. Nothing that really stood out to MacReady, who was already mentally running through the same procedural list for first contact that he’d previously executed numerous times before during his time captaining the ol’ Irishman.
Establish visual communication…introduce ourselves…inform the aliens of the overwhelming power of the Galactic Confederation…“invite” them to join…sit back and wait while they processed it all.
MacReady was ready to get this done because after they finished here, he planned to make a beeline for the galley. At the last port of call, Cookie had managed to finagle a case of real, genuine steaks from old Earth itself. At this very moment, he was grilling up a special treat for the captain - a fat, juicy beefsteak, two inches thick from a steer that died happy, with all the trimmings like mashed potatoes and gravy and a side of Bultaknian mushrooms.
The Captain first became acquainted with Earther beef - the real, genuine thing - back when he was a still-wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant serving as an adjutant to the commandant of Starbase 7. Because the commandant was a commandant and he was a lieutenant, MacReady got the “opportunity” to represent the starbase at a week-long conference on the logistics of cryogenic food storage that was held in the Confederation capital of Kansas City, on Earth. During his downtime, MacReady toured the surrounding countryside which even after all these centuries was still heavily agricultural. Beef in abundance flowed throughout the entire region, something that simply astounded the offworld born lieutenant. Of course, huge sections of Earth were reserved for beef production. Indeed, a few decades ago the entire continent known as “Australia” had been deindustrialised, terraformed into grasslands, and reserved exclusively for cattle raising.
This all was a necessity because beef was the only remaining meat that mankind could or would eat. If humans wanted to satisfy their craving for animal-based protein, then that savoury, savoury cowflesh was the only way left to do it.
An explanation is probably in order. It has nothing to do with that ancient Earther group of religious fanatics known as “PETA” (historians still differ on what this name meant, or even which ancient language it derived from). The truth of the matter is far stranger and more wonderful.
Earlier, it was noted that the galaxy was awash with intelligent life. Well, convergent evolution was apparently working overtime in all of this and a huge chunk of these sentient species closely resembled various earth animals. Not all, certainly. The purple-furred, three-headed Gruknakians of Deltauk IV resemble nothing ever exhibited by terrestrial biology. Many were not even organic, such as the rock-like Pook or the Yyustrii, who are basically cohering clouds of gas energized by electrical impulses. But enough did resemble earth creatures, including creatures that mankind used as food, that it threw humanity into an existential crisis.
What were men to think when confronted by intelligent creatures who looked like oversized sheep or ducks? What to do when the grilled tilapia on your plate reminds you of that Blglglurg ambassador you met last week? You have the chicken-like Kukkuk, the goatish Barghesisians, even the ophidian Sassssax looked too much like rattlesnakes to make those palable any longer. Indeed, no less than thirteen species officially catalogued by the Confederation look very much like rabbits. When your best friend and roommate at Fleet Academy looks like a bipedal version of an award-winning American Yorkshire pig, that plate of bacon becomes quite a bit less appealing.
Over the decades, fewer and fewer humans were able to stomach - no pun intended - eating creatures that looked like aliens. Tell yourself that there’s a difference all you like, but the eyes testify more strongly than the brain. After all, these aliens are as capable of producing art and philosophy and theology and mathematics as any human, able to create marvelous machines to carry them across the vast distances of interstellar space. It just seemed unsettling and wrong, so man eventually stopped. For what it’s worth, many of these species felt the same way, having formerly dined on lower creatures that appeared very similar to humans.
But beef. Ahhhhh, beef. Beef, boys, beef was still on the menu. And humans enjoyed it every chance they got. Which is exactly what Captain MacReady planned to do once this bureaucratic busywork was over. He didn’t intend to be overly diplomatic. After all, these aliens would be joining the Confederation, one way or another. Just get this job done and get on with the day, he thought as his mouth watered.
MacReady turned his head to Lt. Sturm, the communications officer. “Have we identified frequencies for contact?”
“Aye Captain.”
The captain paused for a second with just a hint of trepidation. Who could guess how ugly these new aliens might be? But manfully onward he pressed.
“Okay folks, let’s knock this out, I’m gettin’ hungry! Comm, open up a channel. Let’s find out who our new friends are.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Sturm’s fingers flew over his holopad and the forward viewscreen initially showed static as the patterns locked into place, but gradually resolved themselves into an image of the alien officer aboard the other vessel. MacReady swiveled his head back to face the screen and his heart sank. The wide, flaring nostrils of that pink nose, those soft and gentle brown eyes, that bovine countenance…
I was in the bookstore just the afternoon, and had no impulse to browse the science fiction section. Self published stories such as this on Substack are better than what publishers are vetting these days.
What happened to your presence on Twitter? You've always been innocuous and reasonable in my eyes.