A Good Harvest

“Look what I found,” he said, trembling with excitement. “It was right there in the middle of the field.”

“So?”

“So! They left it for us. It’s a sign.”

“Did you see who left it?”

“Well, no,” he responded, “but it must be for us. Why else would they leave something as special as this?”

“It’s a cuboidal container covered in floral-based pulp, Gorlak. I don’t think it’s at all special.”

“I believe the term they use is box,” said Gorlak, “and they only wrap it in paper when there’s something special inside.”

“They do that when the weather gets cold. It’s too warm for that. And they use colorful patterned paper for gift-giving,” said Terl, “not brown.”

“Yes! That’s what it’s called, gift-giving,” replied Gorlak, his tentacles dancing, “this is a gift!”

“Gift or not, you can’t open it, '' said Terl, “Management demands we follow procedure with any and all contact with them.”

“Oh, procedure,” sighed Gorlak, “since when have they ever been any danger to us?”

“That’s because they can’t see us but you’ve seen what they do to each other.”

“Yes, but if they could see us, I know we would get along,” said Gorlak. “Think of all we could share with each other, all we could accomplish. For all their basic instincts and the troubles they wreak, the one that shines through is their curiosity. Curiosity for the unknown, to improve lives. It’s something we have in common and that’s an encouraging thought.”

“But they also fear the unknown,” warned Terl. “You’ve seen how they react to things they find distasteful - with violence and condemnation. How would they react to the sight of us? We look like those - oh, what are they called? - things that swim in their oceans.”

“Octopus,” whispered Gorlak, almost to himself.

“Right, octopus. Imagine their reaction to an octopus walking up and trying to engage in conversation. They would attack you with those loud sticks that shoot rocket-propelled chunks of metal. We’re better off unseen.”

“That can’t be true. There has to be more than edibles to our visit, some reason for visiting this planet with all these bipeds.”

“There isn’t. Harvesting the edible flora and their seeds is the extent of Management’s orders. You would do well, Gorlak, to put the idea of contact out of your mind.” Terl began to shuffle off down the corridor before turning back. “Oh and get that box to Processing.”

The algae-carpeted corridor extended only a few feet from where Gorlak stood before sloping down at a steep angle. He padded his tentacle on the damp moss. The saltwater seeped out and was absorbed through his skin. Feeling refreshed, he wrapped himself around the box and descended the algae-covered slide. The different floors of the Mothership whizzed by: the Conservatory, the MedBay, the Hatchery. Down a few feet on the sloped side of the slide was a Navilever. This required precise timing. Gorlak readied himself and as he approached at machspeed, he flung his tentacle out at the Navilever, wrapped around it and yanked hard. The hydraulics hissed as the slide broke off at the junction and rotated on its axis before reconnecting at a new track. The slope began to decrease before completely flattening out. Gorlak slid to a comfortable stop.

Gorlak hated Processing. It was too dim and mechanical for his taste. Above him, claws attached to great cables the size of tree trunks descended from their ports finding their cargo. The hauls were in piles scattered across the great rectangular room. There were piles of hay, corn, and lettuce, among others. Gorlak carried the box to the central platform where a glass pillar stood that was filled with an undulating fog. In that fog was a shape not dissimilar to Gorlak, except maybe being a bit rounder and larger. A tentacle inside slapped the glass, its suction cups contracting in rhythm.

“Who is it who has come to me?” asked the voice inside the tube.

“Gorlak, Matron,” he replied, “from 38th Squadron.”

“38th, you say,” she replied. “You’ve been assigned to field duty. If you have any questions, you need to speak with Central.”

“I am aware, Matron, but I found something during my harvest. I was told to follow procedure and bring it here.”

“You found something,” she replied without masking her intrigue. “What did you find?”

Gorlak tightened his grip on the box now unsure if he was willing to relinquish it. It was his find after all. Shouldn’t he be the one to open it? Enjoy its contents? He wanted to say it had been a mistake, that he would take it up with Central but it was too late to back out now. Matron wouldn’t let him leave without knowing what he brought.

“Well, um,” he stammered, cleared his throat and continued, “it’s a box. Covered in brown paper, Matron.”

“A brown paper box,” she exclaimed, the disappointment in her voice was unmistakable and Gorlak couldn’t help but feel guilty. “Pah! It probably fell off one of their transport vehicles. That has no value. You can discard it in Disposal.”

“Do I have to bring it to Disposal, Matron? Could I, perhaps, keep it? Maybe even open it?”

“I don’t rightly care what you do with that trash,” she spat, “but if you want to open it, you must get Sanitation and Extraction clearance.”

“And, um, where do I get that, Matron?”

“From Environmental Control,” she replied, “in Sector 3. But I warn you, Gorlak, Seebel dislikes distractions even more than I, particularly, when such distractions are a waste of time.”

It is not a waste of time to me, thought Gorlak. None of them understood. He was doing something important. He was going to prove that contact with the bipeds was possible and with contact, friendship. He straightened out his tentacles and shuffled out of Processing with renewed determination and into the nearest transport slide and set the Navilever to Sector 3. The slide whisked him through the transport superhighway and popped him out at his destination.

Sector 3 housed the administrative department. Filing cabinets a hundred feet tall made of chrome stretched up to the ceiling. The air was dryer here as there was not as much moss in the carpets and walls. It burned Gorlak’s throat. Lit signs flashed arrows to destinations and Gorlak followed the one that read “Environmental Control.” The corridor wound to the right, which stretched out of the main structure of the Mothership. Portholes offered views of space, above and below Gorlak, only stars. He shivered at their ancient enormity and how small he was in comparison. The universe goes on with its machinations of growth and destruction while this tiny blue ball called Earth spins and breathes and is none the wiser. The bipeds have a saying, thought Gorlak, what was it again? Ignorance is bliss.

The corridor looped back into the macrostructure and ended at a large steel door with a jagged crease down the middle. To the left of which was a tentacle print reader that stood around waist height - if Gorlak had a waist. He set the box down on the floor then placed his shriveling tentacle - for the dry air had taken its toll - on the reader. The reader scanned and beeped a few times before acquiescing entry. As the door slid open, Gorlak wrapped his tentacle around the box, the bottom of which was now damp from the saltwater.

Environmental Control was tiny compared to Processing, consisting of an office space, complete with desk and lamp. In the back, there was a hollowed out section for all manner of lab equipment: a fume hood, burners, and an assortment of electronic devices haphazardly stacked on top of one another. With his back to the front door, Seebel sat on a moss-covered stool over the fume hood.

“Uh, um, Seebel,” Gorlak stammered.

The elder swiveled on his stool and peered through his microlenses. He pushed himself to his tentacles and stretched a shaky tentacle to his walking cradle. Plopping down in the seat, he rolled himself towards Gorlak, all the while not taking his eyes off him. Finally, his vision cleared around six inches from Gorlak and Seebel’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Ah, Gorlak,” he croaked. “What can I help you with?”

“Well, elder, I working the fields this morning and during my harvest, I found a brown paper box and I told Terl about it and he told me to follow procedure so I took it down to Processing and I spoke to Matron and she didn’t have any interest in it and told me to take it down to Disposal but I couldn’t part with it without knowing what was inside and she advised me to bring up here to Environmental Control for Sanitation and Extraction and so I came up here to talk to you because I would really like to see what’s in it,” said Gorlak, rambling and shaking in front of his elder. “If that’s okay.”

“It sounds like you’ve been through quite a bit,” said Seebel, with a smile. “Let’s have a look, then.”

Gorlak took the box from behind his back and placed it before his elder. Seebel wrapped a tentacle around the box and placed it in the cargo compartment of his cradle and wheeled himself back over to the fume hood. He placed the box inside and slipped his tentacles in the rubber sleeves and rotated the box, inspecting it from every angle. He beeped and booped some machines on the side of the hood, which displayed graphs and readouts.

“There’s no trace of blumonium,” said Seebel, regarding one of the readouts. “So, that’s good. Looks like floral fibers and color dyes. All organic.”

“Is there anything inside?”

Seebel gave the box a shake and something rattled inside. “I would definitely say so,” he replied.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Seebel,” cried Gorlak. “May I have it back now?”

“How bad do you want it?”

“Master Seebel, I would give my right tentacle for the contents of that box.”

Seebel laughed a hearty laugh. “I’m just playing with you, Gorlak. But I do wonder why you want contact with these bipeds so badly. You never underwent Assimilation in Central did you?”

“No, Master Seebel. Assimilation was implemented after my deployment and I never went back for it.”

“You opted out?” asked Seebel, his eyes growing wide. “No wonder you’re so unhappy. Assimilation connects us, gives us a common drive. With Assimilation, we achieve tranquility.”

“I don’t want tranquility,” replied Gorlak, “and I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want adventure. I want to meet new beings.”

“Anything new can be dangerous, Gorlak.”

“I want it because it is dangerous. Because it takes courage. I want friends who are different from me because they challenge me, offer new perspectives. I want to learn something new because it is new and because it helps me grow. I want to be my best self and I can’t do that if I’m trying to be like everyone else.”

“And you think this box will help you achieve that?”

“I don’t know until I open it,” said Gorlak, “but I can hope. I can hope that it’s from them - someone who can see us and is reaching out. Someone who wants to be a friend.”

“Well, go on then,” said Seebel. “Let’s see what’s inside."

And Gorlak opened the box.