Chapter 2: First Contact
The Martian snapped its head around, and placed itself between us and the robot. Now we got a good look at its back: a pair of wing covers. One seemed to be moving slightly – perhaps they communicated like crickets, at least to some extent. It waved its arms at the robot, and the machine lowered its weapon. "Thanks," I breathed, although it certainly couldn't understand me.
The head of the robot opened, and another Martian stepped out. This one was larger than the one I'd met, and had a ridge on its chest. We later learned that the Martian I had met was a female, and that chest ridges signified a male. Doc stepped forward to meet him. "You know what you're doing, Doc?"
"Bryan, in all the time we've spent together, when have I not known what I'm doing?"
He later told me how he communicated with the male Martian: with mathematics. After all, as he put it, "one and one always make two, no matter what planet you're from!" Fortunately, they also used a base-ten numbering system, and before long, we could add, subtract, divide, and multiply in Martian, and they could do the same with Terran notation. We eventually had to leave, but we knew we'd be back tomorrow.
On the trip back to our home, I pondered what I'd seen. These Martians were clearly technologically advanced, and we had a whole year to get to know them. Could they help us get back home?
"Say, Doc?" He turned to me. "What do we tell Mission Control?" He opened his mouth and it hung that way.
"You know, Bryan, I haven't a clue. We'll talk it over with Ivan and Mac when we get back home."
Mac was all for telling the mission controllers about what we'd seen. He went over the video logs from Doc's little math lesson with the Martian, and concluded that we needed more advice – math was extremely useful, and good for easing up those difficult first contact sessions, but it's hard to ask for help with math, and Doc agreed with him. Ivan and I, on the other hand, were against revealing the Martians' presence – what if the media heard about it? People have a hard enough time getting along because of their race, religion, nationality, you name it – how in the world would people react to extraterrestrial life? I guaranteed that at least one politician would start blaming Terran troubles on them, and that would be the end of Terra-Mars relations.
…
"Antares!" I snapped. The inventor ignored me. "Antares, listen to me!" He glared over from his Red Planet Protector. "What were you thinking, pointing that giant laser at them?! What if they got the wrong idea about us? Why in the world would you pull that kind of stunt?!"
A figure walked up behind me. I turned to see my father, Rigel, our leader. "Antares did as he did," he said, "because I wanted him to keep you safe." He embraced me tightly. "Cassiopeia, I was worried about you – first you fell down the ridge, and then one of those creatures from the Terran machine fell down after you, I thought he might hurt you!"
I laughed. "Honestly, I think he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. And besides," I pulled myself to my full height, "I could have taken him. Have you seen how clumsy they are? They really must be from Terra; they've certainly never walked here before."
Father sighed. "They aren't as dexterous as we are, but we know that their planet is much larger than ours. They are almost certainly stronger than we are."
Antares hopped over from his Protector. "At least they met us, and not the Underlanders." That suggestion – that these unprepared explorers could encounter such vicious people – cast an eerie silence over the room. As far as we could tell, there were only four of them, and they could not possibly hope to stand against such a foe. Father came to a decision.
"Antares, Cassiopeia, I want you to establish communications with these beings with all haste. We must warn them about the Underlanders." With that, he left to return to his advisers and colonels.
