Xenoarchaeology is a new field, and it will always be new. Because as soon as you step on a new planet, you have to learn everything again.

  Carbon-14 dating is only viable on Earth as we know it. Organic matter on alien planets might not even carry it.

  Sedimentation works completely differently the moment we leave Earth.

  I envy you all, venturing out into the stars, searching for the galactic past.

  And I pity you. Oh yes, I pity you.

  Introduction to Xenoarchaeology, Oxford University

  Dr. H. Ford, ca. 17 B.I.

  The Magellan was always a beautiful ship, as it was a sister ship of the Argos, a vessel IronBallz was very familiar with.

  But the refit with Shraphen and Nuk technology had made it a marvel. The hull was no longer the sparkling gray of human steel covered with nanodiamonds. It was now a shining bronze-gold color of Shraphen hull metallo-ceramics.

  As their Sleipnir came closer to the ship, they could see the large nameplate covering the flank of the vessel. Now in black, scorched letters from its previous battles, it bore the scorch marks as proudly as a veteran soldier.

  This stood out because the Magellan was no warship, but one fully dedicated to science. It had merely retained the weapons a ship of its hull class would normally have.

  IronBallz knew Captain Smith described it as “the epitome of an ancient Greek warrior scholar.”

  Much to his surprise, once they had called the Magellan about his suspicions that something was hidden in the crater of Burrow’s moon, Captain Smith had not reacted with ridicule. On the contrary, the ship immediately cleared a flight path to the moon and arrived within sixty minutes of their call.

  Now the passengers simply waited for the ship to dock.

  “I envy you. While you search for the secrets of our moon, I have to meet with the provisional government and review contracts.”

  Krun was rightfully unhappy about his upcoming appointments, but the prospect of a unification between Burrow and Taishon Tar was too important to miss.

  They were, after all, the reason they were flying to the moon colony.

  ‘I’ll keep some secrets just for you to uncover, if we even find any. With my luck, we’ll search for days only to find it was just some drunken hallucination.’ IronBallz was sure it wasn’t, but Krun needed some emotional support.

  The provisional government had been a pain in the tail to deal with last week. Even without a planet, their initial claims that the Shraphen colony in Sirius was under their control anyway, and that no formal unification was needed, had made compromises difficult at first.

  Only the mediation from the Trkik Ambassador Chiprit led to the renewed summit now underway.

  Krun just released a deep Shraphen growl, continuing to stare at the passing hull segments of the massive ship while the Sleipnir was on its docking approach.

  When the transporter finally landed in the hangar bay, five minutes had passed since Krun had last spoken.

  IronBallz had used the time to open his mind to the Gliders aboard the Magellan. This was always a difficult task when individuals had been apart for longer periods or were meeting for the first time.

  The unconscious parts of Glider brains shared memories, emotions, and what they called ‘essence’ constantly and without much disturbance to the conscious parts, allowing different collectives to become one larger whole.

  But in instances like this, when a single individual entered a collective of many, the risk of being overwhelmed was real.

  IronBallz was mentally strong, but he was also older, and much to his chagrin, sober.

  The memories flooded his collective of one, and he could feel the adventures the Gliders aboard the Magellan had shared with the ship.

  It was exhilarating, but also exhausting.

  When the ramp on the side opened to the hangar, he knew the ship as if he had served aboard her for months, but he was also physically as well as mentally drained.

  In the hangar stood a female Shraphen with a Glider on her shoulder.

  Sokra and ShutUpBitch.

  ‘Hello, IronBallz. Had some bad dream and called mommy to check under the bad crater, to make sure no monsters live there?’ ShutUpBitch’s humor was, as always, dripping with sarcasm, but through the collective, he could feel her true, warm, and caring self.

  We’re all harmed by the things the Hyphea did to us…

  ‘You know what? Shut up, bitch. Let the grown-ups speak.’ It was partly a ritual between them, and partly a theater for the Shraphen and human crew around them.

  If you’re funny and entertaining, others don’t see you as a threat. The Gliders trusted the humans and Shraphen, but they didn’t have the unifying influence a collective had. Politics could change. Individuals could rile up people and endanger Glider survival.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  It would take time for the Gliders to fully trust humans and Shraphen with all their secrets.

  Sokra didn’t seem surprised by the banter. The female scientist spoke softly, carefully hiding her long, sharp teeth. “Master IronBallz, I understand that merging with the Gliders’ collective is quite a strain on a being of your stature and experience. If you agree, I could carry you to your guest quarters.”

  That was a nice way of saying you’re old and tired, so let me carry you. Almost certainly a practical joke by ShutUpBitch.

  ‘I’m neither a master nor an old, fragile fool. But I’m drained and exhausted, so I welcome your offer.’

  IronBallz jumped the short distance of five meters from Krun to Sokra’s shoulder. He could tell by the way she moved that she was used to carrying Gliders.

  Krun exchanged pleasantries with Sokra and then hastily excused himself to return to the shuttle and continue his mission to the colony on the moon below.

  The former hunter turned spy and now politician glanced once more through the hangar as the ramp closed.

  As the Sleipnir took off, Sokra turned around and walked the Glider to IronBallz’ quarters.

  The whole way through the maze of corridors, she explained the ship, its mission, and its layout. IronBallz ignored her, adding ‘hmm’ and ‘ahh’ to her monologue as if he were actually listening.

  In truth, he already knew the general layout of the ship. It was similar to the Argos, but more importantly, he had access to the memories of all Gliders aboard through the collective.

  Next to him, on Sokra’s other shoulder, ShutUpBitch lay with her eyes closed. To outsiders, it might have seemed she was asleep, but IronBallz knew she was revisiting his memories.

  The memories that shouldn’t exist, given all they thought they knew about their past.

  But as they walked, he noticed one significant detail: the small runways along the ceilings of the hallways and rooms they passed.

  The ship had separate passageways for the Glider crew to move around. Nice.

  Shortly before they reached their destination, “Ferdinand”—the ship VI—called them.

  “Renthai Sokra, Captain Smith asked if you and our guests could join him in the Science Information Centre. The first scans of the crater have found something interesting.”

  “Ferdinand, Master IronBallz is very tired. I think he might need to rest.”

  Again with the Master. What nonsense had ShutUpBitch told the crew?

  ‘Thanks, Sokra. But if we’ve found something, resting can wait.’

  “As you wish, Master,” was Sokra’s almost devoted answer.

  ‘Sokra, why do you call me Master? It’s… unsettling.’ He had to stop this now. The joke wasn’t funny anymore.

  Sokra walked at a brisker pace now. The scientist in her clearly felt the pull of whatever the ship’s sensors had found.

  IronBallz knew the SIC lay behind the bridge and served as the ship’s brain.

  Even Captain Smith spent most of his time there, commanding the Magellan through his first officer, Lieutenant Commander Cho.

  “ShutUpBitch explained your ability. The ability to walk the memories of the long-dead of your people. We Shraphen have a legend. We call them Mind Hunters.”

  IronBallz had a bad feeling about that.

  “According to our beliefs, they were once masters of a wide range of telepathic abilities. But as a Renthai, a scientist, I never believed such fairy tales. Until I met the Gliders. And you. Master in mind hunting.”

  Oh boy. My existence has broken her world. Perfect.

  ‘There’s nothing masterful about it. No magic. It’s biology and science, Sokra. My brain and spine have dedicated memory cells where memories of other Gliders are stored, like a RAID system in a server.’

  “I understand. But if you can do it, if all Gliders can do it, maybe the Shraphen legends have a kernel of truth. And if this legend is true, what else might be?”

  Yeah. Full-blown philosophical crisis. Poor girl.

  Before the exchange could go any further, they reached the SIC entrance.

  Without slowing down, Sokra entered.

  IronBallz knew what to expect, but he was still slightly overwhelmed.

  The room was circular, with science stations lining the walls and facing a central holo projector, now a Shraphen model after the refit.

  Around the central holotank, situation tables and holographic screens stood.

  And in the middle of it all was Captain Smith, angry god of science and destruction, demanding answers from his scientists.

  “Professor Brian, I need a better resolution on the scans.”

  “Cho, bring some googly eyes down there. I want light. And Sokra, nice of you to join us. Get me particle readings.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Sokra turned to the exotic particles station. The insecurity IronBallz had noticed earlier was gone now, replaced by the wide-eyed but capable scientist he remembered through ShutUpBitch.

  IronBallz was now fully awake, as was ShutUpBitch. She jumped off Sokra’s shoulder, and to his amusement, he saw a row of Glider-sized science stations hanging from the ceiling, including wooden hanging rings.

  Humans had actually adapted their control centers to allow Gliders to operate in a comfortable anatomical position.

  Nice.

  ShutUpBitch already hung head down in front of a station, using her four gripping feet to hold herself while she operated the controls with her remaining two front legs, or hands, as humans would call them.

  IronBallz was too tired to work himself, so he stayed on Sokra’s shoulders.

  Slinging his tail to the now-free shoulder, he snuggled himself around her neck like a scarf. Sokra didn’t seem to notice, already deep in particle dispersion data.

  He knew much of the science behind it, again mostly through ShutUpBitch, but that didn’t mean he could interpret the data or extrapolate any meaning from it.

  Not his expertise. And quite frankly, boring as hell.

  “Sir, I can’t read any exotic particles coming from the crater. Not even neutrinos.”

  Smith cursed, but the other scientists suddenly paused, staring at Sokra.

  IronBallz knew something wasn’t right, but not what. Or why.

  “Sir, that’s… that’s not normal. Neutrinos pass through any known baryonic matter. Something down there is stopping them.”

  Smith turned to the holotank and brought up a radar scan, now overlaid with visual data from the googly eyes.

  The center of the crater was covered in thick ice, a small mound rising at its heart.

  IronBallz had to squint. Then he saw it.

  Almost buried beneath the ice stood two twisted frames of towers, cables hanging loosely down their sides. They looked as if they had once powered lights along the towers, now broken and long dead.

  Between the two frames, the ice was darker, forming a distinct hexagonal shape.

  The towers were guiding frames for a dock at the center.

  Someone had built a station on the moon ages ago.

  ————

  IronBallz woke up. Finally, he had time to sleep and drink.

  The discussion in the SIC had lasted forever. They had created a gravimetric mapping and positioned googly eyes with neutrino-rate sensors around the moon.

  They had used deep ground-penetrating radar probes.

  His head had hurt from all the exposition the different scientists had thrown around.

  All those fancy words, only to find out that the facility was big.

  What a waste of time.

  His only light in the dark was the human xenoarchaeologist they had finally called to the SIC.

  Dr. Daniel J. Shanks.

  A true Indiana Jones-meets-Kirk kind of guy.

  An IronBallz kind of guy.

  He said the only important thing.

  “We need to go down there and check it out.”

  Today, the googly eyes would take ice core samples far from the presumed docking area, just to establish a baseline.

  Then the drilling would start.

  And then they would finally be able to enter the facility. Real answers. Not some boring talking heads shouting technobabble in a too brightly lit control center.

  Boots on the ground. That’s where the action was.

  And IronBallz would be in the first row, safely packed inside the good doctor’s space suit.

  Now he just had to convince the doctor.