The Spot

No one blinked. As they gathered by the image processor, taking time to adjust all of their eye sockets and each dial and module on the machine, they simply stared and stared at what they were looking at. No one thought to make a mental note of this; no one thought that their psychic connection could handle this. But there it was and they had to process it.

Wild synaptic cheers came through the neuron feed. There was a great deal of speculation as to what would come next now that they had made this great discovery. Would there be some sort of possible trip or contact with the lifeforms they had detected? This silenced some of the celebrants. The Elders had been strangely mute on their collective synapses. Perhaps they would provide an answer that would please everyone. It was the waiting that made the silence so terrible, but necessary (they never rushed into any decision since the Great Methane Famine wiped out over half the population who rushed to feed where no particle of gas existed). So, the population waited.

And they waited.

And they waited.

Finally, there was a decision made and did not please anyone who heard it.

“This never happened.”               

For a very long mental moment, no one uttered a thought. The hovergalleries were left unoccupied; hippocampuses cancelled classes for the day; algae cafés could see that the number of patrons dropped dramatically when sales were tallied (credit chips were very thin in the coffers). No one wanted to be detected disagreeing with the final decision, but there was enough of a bond between citizens for a sensitive being to detect discomfort and annoyance.

How could they forget such a thing?

The image, nearly destroyed during the Elders’ long search for a verdict, was burned into the collective. Newer entities were saving it for their scrapbook collections and did not want to deny what they considered the most important discovery of their nonlinear lives.

How could they deny such a thing?

Many of the citizens who accepted the news were not aware of the growing resentment and annoyance many of their fellow citizens felt towards the Elders. They had made many wise and careful decisions in the past, but they were not infallible. There were moments that they would not forget, such as the great Moon renovation fiasco, the portal mix up with the residents of Olfactoron-69… And then there was the moment they received a shipment of eggs that would hatch and attachment their progeny to… But those were events from many ages ago. And all those decisions had come down from the Elders and were handled by them.

So, why should this be seen an error?

In one of the more obscure areas of the shared collective mind hive, a plot was formed. Several of the more dangerous sectors of the galaxy knew all about the photograph, and they could see that there was a great amount of potential in contacting whatever type of primitive life form existed there. The people there were satisfied with so little, they would be happy to learn about timejump engines, multidimensional work duties, and the benefits of planet design for peace among worlds. Surely, they would be willing to hear from at least one small delegation that slipped under the mental radar of the collective.

They were going to contact the Spot.

But how were they to do this?

With some of the technology and calculations made in private, it was discovered that it would take at least four timejumps to get to the discovery. Many of the scientists who were excited about the possibility of contact were disappointed with the decision to ignore the photo. They were willing to try and reduce the amount of time necessary to make the journey.

Many accidents followed. One surreptitious trip led to one crew of explorers encountering their own grandchildren when both sides were adults, but this was minor compared to the explosions, mutilations, loss of citizens and expense to their credit lists. But still they experimented and kept their work hidden from anyone connected to the Elders. And after many different creations and experiments, they had their vehicle.

The Grand Hunter.

It was a beautiful vessel for a virtual creation. With some modifications and enhancements, they would be able to reach the Spot with only two separate time jumps. The problem now was to decide who would make the journey.

Many non-psychic feelers were raised in the methane-thick gas. The ones who had designed the ship were not about to be denied the chance to make such a journey. The scientists who made the modifications were a little more hesitant. Only one of them made the decision to join the rest of the designers (a quick version of Rock, Paper, Scissors – using terms that we would not recognize – was played). Then there was the choice of a captain…

It would have to be the one who could resist the neurological beatdown that was coming their way if they were discovered (no timejump would prevent that).

It would have to be someone who had already travelled beyond the accepted limits of their territory.

It would have to be someone the Elders would not suspect in a million quasimoments.

So, it had to be Y.

Yes, it was Y. They all knew Y. Y. would be the one to get them there.

It should be explained that they did not have names in this nebula. They would have considered that the greatest vanity. But they did need some sort of title for a man who was a war veteran, explorer, savior of the realm (he solved that gas problem and had a tentacle in the egg removal). So, in their language, Y is as close an equivalent to anything in our various tongues.

So, when there was little neural vibration work in their connected web, the Grand Hunter disconnected from their world.

And there were no glitches or errors as the second time jump and the ship adjusted to the open space of the new galaxy.

There were small rocky planets, large methane-filled bodies (some discussion about harvesting took place, but was not explored), a beautiful planet with its own set of rings (their own moon lost theirs ages ago; some sadness was shared among the crew), and a very powerful gaseous star that provided these meagre planets with their energy and reason for existed.

And then…there it was.

The Spot.

The ship did not want to give away their position right away (who knows what type of reaction they would receive if they were responsible for interrupting another neural feedloop). So, with some caution, they approached from the sunless side of the planet and landed in a clear field that was quiet and calm…and remained unnoticed.

This was ideal; this is what they wanted.

And they prepared for their first encounter.

They were ready for it.

Unfortunately, they landed just before dawn in an uncut field of grass and were quickly destroyed by a lawnmower operated by a Mr. Curtis Boyle who had left off trimming the outfield of the diamond for far too long. It was something that bothered him, and he was glad to get it done before the season opener. He would not be blamed for delaying another game… The hometown boys and girls would appreciate his good work.