“Sir Captain. I have your report on the new alien specimens.”
The Research Aide handed over the metal disk, and the Captain put it into the ship’s silver console terminal. The Captain glanced at the report. “How are they faring?”
The aide hesitated. “Well. The Lead Scientist on the Research Level says that the new biped specimen is rather difficult.”
“Difficult? Again? Planet XOJ‑03 always has the most difficult species. Explain.”
“They said the specimen will not calm down.”
“How so?”
“It keeps demanding more things and banging on the containment walls. The Head Translator was pulled from another project to help them understand the alien’s request, which is apparently confusing.”
The Captain gestured annoyance. “Before the new Hextrata Convention Accords, we could simply sedate or kill them when they were too difficult. But now we have to hire special translators instead. What does it want now?”
“The alien is requesting a liquid.”
“H₂O? Then simply provide it. Why are you bothering me with this?”
“No. It is not that. The specimen was given H₂O but threw it on the floor.”
“It does not drink H₂O?”
The aide looked back toward the travel tube to the lower decks of the space frigate. “We called in the Cultural Advisor with the greatest knowledge of the species to determine if the request for the alternate liquid was life‑necessary. They thought maybe this species cannot ingest H₂O.”
“But they have in the past and are an H₂O‑based species.”
The aide gestured confusion.
The Captain turned to another aide on the ship’s bridge. “Bring me the Cultural Advisor immediately.”
The other aide sped off to comply, soon returning up the ship’s traveling tube with the advisor.
The Captain asked, “Please provide an update on the new specimens. The Accord administrators will decommission our ship if the specimen dies before reaching the home world.”
The advisor gestured respect. “Yes. We know. It is demanding a special type of liquid only this one species on planet XOJ‑03 ingests.”
The Captain replied, “Not H₂O?”
“No. The specimen called the liquid ‘a short hazelnut latte.’”
“A latte? What is that?”
“Our research indicates it is an H₂O‑based infusion of XOJ‑03 flora that contains a chemical agent to heighten energy.”
“Increased energy? That purpose makes sense.”
“Another bipedal specimen in the past requested something called wine, which we thought was H₂O‑based as well, but turned out to be R‑OH‑based, and it made the specimens behave irritably, walk funny, and become unable to speak, with no perceived benefit or purpose. So, the Lead Scientist was naturally worried about the latte.”
“Maybe the specimen is only hungry?”
A negative was gestured. “No, Sir Captain. It was fed appropriately nutritious food and H₂O per the new Accord regulations. It simply wants this specific liquid as well.”
“Then the specimen does not need this latte to survive?”
“According to the female bipedal specimen, it does. The specimen has been banging on the door, saying it experiences severe pain in its brain casing unless it ingests the special liquid every twenty‑four standard planet hours. But research shows it is not life‑necessary.”
Suddenly, a furry black quadraped alien jumped up onto the console of the ship’s bridge.
Everyone recoiled with gestures of terror.
The Captain hissed. “What is this specimen doing off the Research Level? Aide! Where is the Specimen Master?”
The advisor waved a tentacle at the escaped alien specimen. “You. Alien beast. Get off there!”
The Research Aide slid forward to remove the furry black beast from the console.
The alien creature hissed, low and guttural, baring its fangs. Its green eyes were bright as it struck out, long claws extended.
The aide jerked its blue tentacle back, azure blood oozing out of a slash in its soft skin. “It attacked me!”
The Captain waved two tentacles about in confusion. “Someone retrieve the Specimen Master this instant.”
The aide rubbed the injured tentacle with another tentacle, its bulbous eyes on long stalks swiveling about in distress. “I apologize, Sir Captain. This beast came with the female specimen who is demanding the latte. The female specimen calls this quadraped a ‘cat,’ and has been demanding the return of it as well.”
The Captain asked, “Maybe the bipedal specimen needs the latte for the cat?”
The aide put the injured tentacle into its mouth to stop the flow of azure blood from the cut and touched an uninjured tentacle tip to its shoulder to gesture negative.
The Cultural Advisor said, “This species variant is not my specialty, but I think that cats are already energetic and do not need a latte.”
The Captain gestured agreement by circling a tentacle on its chest. “Indeed. It is already dangerous enough.”
The cat lay down along the console, fluffy black fur sticking out, tail twitching, and now licking one of its paws calmly, as if it had never been annoyed.
The Captain eyed the alien creature with trepidation. “Where did its claws go? It can hide them? What is the purpose of keeping such a dangerous beast with them?”
The advisor said, “The bipeds keep them as a pet.”
“What is a pet?”
“A beast they keep in their home.”
“For what purpose would they keep a mean pet?”
A tentacle circled the advisor’s chest in agreement. “You should meet the tigers.”
“There is more than one type?”
“There are many evolutionary variants of this quadraped on XOJ‑03.” The advisor ran a tentacle along its head, the gesture for thinking or contemplation. “We have not yet determined why they keep these in their homes, since the animal is also known for tearing up the expensive and rare belongings of the bipedal specimens.”
“Maybe it is meant to guard from enemies?”
The advisor touched a tentacle tip to its shoulder again. Negative. “They have an animal called a ‘dog’ for that. Which is a much nicer species.”
“Why is the mean animal the pet and the nice animal the guard?”
The advisor gestured uncertainty by running the tentacle down the side of its face. “We are still trying to ascertain many facts about this alien species. Much of what they do has no identifiable purpose.”
The Captain moved its tail away from the cat and swiveled its eight eye stalks to watch the black animal, which had stood and begun to walk down the main console of the ship, sniffing all the dials. “That is illogical. All organic actions must have a purpose for life to have meaning.”
By this time, more members of the ship’s crew had slid forward to view the alien, many eye stalks swiveling and whispering to each other about the strange creature.
The cat meowed, and they all jerked back, tentacles covering their chests in defense.
Several of the crew lost their nerve, and slid from the room, tentacles waving in terror.
The Captain asked, “Is it going to attack us again? Should everyone vacate the bridge?”
The Cultural Advisor touched a tentacle tip to its shoulder. “I think not, Sir Captain.”
“We cannot possibly fly the ship with this dangerous beast loose. Where is the Specimen Master!”
The Research Aide ran off to help retrieve the Specimen Master, the cut tentacle still tenderly held in its mouth.
The cat padded closer, meowing again while rubbing on the console terminal.
The remaining brave crew all slid back once more.
The advisor ran a tentacle over its head. “I mostly study the bipedal species on the planet; however, I know a little about this quadraped. I think it would like to be caressed.”
The Captain’s tentacle ran across its neck in confusion. “What is that?”
“When one is touched by another. As if I ran my tentacle down your back.”
A collective turning of eye stalks this way and that expressed everyone’s disastifaction.
The Captain gestured horror by running four tentacles across its face. “For what purpose would they do such a terribly unsettling thing?”
The Cultural Advisor ran a tentacle down the side of its face. “I think they find it soothing. They like to be caressed.”
“All of the specimens?”
Two tentacles crossed at the tip. Unsure. “The specimens with scales don’t seem to like it. But many from this evolutionary line do. Their physiological chemicals become unbalanced if they do not caress each other.”
“Do the Accords require we caress them?” The Captain gestured disgust again, as did many of the crew.
The Cultural Advisor touched its shoulder with a tentacle tip. “No. Only feed, water, house, and not abuse them.”
Many tentacles across the bridge dropped in relief.
The cat’s tail twitched as it batted at a terminal stylus, knocking it to the floor of the bridge.
The Captain asked, “Is that appendage on its back prehensile like ours?”
A tentacle tip to the shoulder. No.
The Captain’s eye stalks swiveled with annoyance. “There are many purposeless evolutionary lines on XOJ‑03 as compared to the last planet we visited.”
The remaining brave crew members all circled two tentacles on their chests in emphatic agreement.
The Captain’s eye stalks swiveled to the travel tube, which still showed no sign of the Specimen Master. “I am tired of waiting. I need to use my console. Please kill the specimen. We can capture another later.”
The Cultural Advisor touched a tentacle to its shoulder. “I apologize, Sir Captain, but I am unable to comply. The new Hextrata Convention Accords have policies against killing the specimens unless they are posing danger or bodily harm. They will decommission us.”
Six of the Captain’s tentacles gestured wildly toward the travel tube the Research Aide had slid down. “But it did cause bodily harm!”
The cat jumped down to a chair and curled up, tucking its head into its arms.
Eye stalks watched, transfixed.
Some of the crew had never been allowed into the Research Level, so this was their first look at an alien specimen, and a dangerous one too. While terrified, they braved it because they would have the best story to share over the next repast.
A strange sound began to vibrate past them all.
Many listening tentacles snaked out to hear the vibrating sound.
The Captain asked, “What is that?”
The advisor ran a tentacle over its head. “Interesting. I had heard about this phenomenon. It is called purring. The specimen creates this vibrating sound when content. But I think it also does it when angry.”
Mulling over it, the Captain ran a tentacle down the side of its face. “So it maims one of my crew and then is content? What is the purpose of that? To confuse enemies?”
At that moment, the Specimen Master came sliding up the traveling tube, its eight blue tentacles gesturing in humility and shame. “Sir Captain. I apologize profusely for this error in keeping.”
One of his tentacles set down a plastic box with a door, and many holes along the side.
Another tentacle pulled a bag from a pouch on his back. It was a clear bag with something pale in it. The Specimen Master opened the bag.
A pungent smell filled the ship’s bridge.
The Captain smelled the air with a tentacle. “What is that vile substance?”
The Specimen Master said, “It is the flesh of an H₂O‑breathing animal on XOJ‑03.” It placed the smelly substance into the box.
The black cat sniffed the air with its pink nose, whiskers twitching. It stood up, stretched, and meowed.
The entire crew jerked back, running all their tentacles over their fronts in defense. Two more crew lost their nerve and slid from the bridge, tentacles waving in terror.
The cat jumped down and rubbed on the box entrance, its fluffy black tail curling, though not fully entering it.
The Specimen Master gestured frustration by tapping two tentacles to its cheeks. “This specimen type always does this. They stand only part‑way in so you cannot close it.”
The Captain slid forward. “I shall try to coax the specimen into the box.”
The last of the remaining crew leaned in, eye stalks stretched forward to watch, waiting for the slashing of tentacles by the dangerous alien creature.
The Captain unfurled two tentacles to push gently on the cat’s, trying to move it toward the open door of the box.
The cat turned and batted at the tentacles.
The Captain snapped its tentacles back, and a collective terror escaped the remaining crew, but observation showed the tentacles hadn’t been cut or slashed.
The advisor said, “It is only playing.”
The Captain gestured confusion. “What is that?”
“We do not yet understand what playing is.”
“Maybe it is a pretend attack, to confuse the enemy?”
“Maybe.”
The tentacles unfurled again, pressing the cat toward the box.
The cat walked between the tentacles, rubbing its face on them and purring. So the other six tentacles were sent in to help the first two. The cat deftly navigated them as well, rubbing on each without being pushed into the box.
The Captain tapped two tentacles to its cheeks. “What a crafty beast.”
Many tentacles circled on chests.
The Captain kept trying to coax the cat into the box. “At least the specimen does not have spikes like that other one, oh, what was the name?”
The advisor said, “Porcupine. This species cleans their covering incessantly with the mouth appendage to stay soft.”
Finally, the cat slipped into the box to eat the smelly substance.
The Specimen Master slammed the door shut. “Again, I profusely and humbly request your forgiveness, Sir Captain.”
The Captain ran one tentacle over its head while rubbing the tips of two others together under watchful eye stalks. “The specimen’s soft covering made me tingle.”
Eye stalks of all the remaining crew turned and swiveled, looking at each other in unease.
The Captain’s eye stalks dipped. “It strangely was not unpleasant.” It ran a tentacle over its head. “Apparently the bipedal specimen needs to touch the cat’s soft covering for this tingle. We do not want the specimens to become chemically unbalanced. So, proceed with putting them in the same cell.”
The Specimen Master touched three tentacles together for compliance, picked up the box with a long blue tentacle, and slid across the room to slip down the travel tube, its long tail disappearing over the edge in time with the meowing cat.
The Captain brushed off the black fur stuck to its foremost tentacle. “And someone, bring the female bipedal specimen this, oh, what was it? The hazelnut latte? I refuse to have it purring on my bridge next.”
Author Note: Images were created using MidJourney.