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  ​“I’m jealous,” said Dr. Quam. “I’d be fainting if the gravity wasn’t so light.”

  ​“What? Why?”

  ​“I’m dehydrated as hell. So are you. Have you noticed how long we’ve been at this?”

  ​“No.” Micheletti checked. Seventeen hours in this session. “I appreciate you sticking with it. You have a knack for figuring out examples they understand.”

  ​“It’s important. But I’m thirsty.”

  ​Another hour established that the president and two-thirds of the Senate would have to approve the trade. When Micheletti said, “Goodbye” the two remaining Visitors went straight to the airlock.

  ​Dr. Quam asked, “Time to send a report?”

  ​“No. I need to know what technology they’re offering and if those ‘pirates’ are a threat to us.”

  ​The next day two Visitors came out. Micheletti wondered if he should think of them as Refugees now. No, that carried too many connotations of weakness. Their reactionless drive ship could probably smash every combat craft Space Force had. He wrote ‘TRADE KNOW ?’ on a panel and held it up.

  ​This time the Visitors swapped in a new negotiator every four to six hours. They still needed to talk with the ones on the ship sometimes. But they gradually established the technologies the Visitors had to trade.

  ​He asked another important question: ‘MANY PEOPLE ?’

  ​That produced a long conversation with the shipboard Visitors. Finally one wrote ’37,145,562’ on a panel.

  ​“Wow. That’s a crowd,” said Dr. Quam.

  ​“Yeah. But they’re not going to live in our houses. Does mean we’re talking a big real estate deal.”

  ​Micheletti tackled the nasty question. He wrote ‘PIRATES COME EARTH ?’

  ​One of the Visitors lifted its first and third pairs of legs, spreading them wide.

  ​Quam burst into laughter. “What a copycat! That’s exactly your shrug.”

  ​“Okay, they don’t know. But that means we have to prepare.”

  ​He took a deep breath. “I’m going to make an offer.”

  ​The sketch of the Earth-Moon system didn’t have to be to scale. The Visitors understood abstraction, even if specific examples were hard.

  ​He marked some of the side of the Moon farthest from Earth. Then on another panel he wrote ‘ALL KNOW TRADE 1/3 MOON AND HUMANS FIGHT PIRATES.’

  ​The response was ‘FIGHT ?’

  ​Not a word they’d used before. Quam darted to the leftover paper and markers at the side of the dome. She quickly cartooned a pirate flag and held it up.

  ​He punched it, ripping the paper. Then he snatched it from her hands, crumpled it, and tore it to shreds.

  ​Quam held up a panel saying ‘FIGHT.’

  ​There was discordant organ playing. Then the Visitors went out the airlock.

  ​“Asking for all their technology might have been too much,” said Dr. Quam.

  ​The Space Force officer answered, “If I’m fighting pirates I want every weapon I can get.”

  ​An hour and a quarter later all five Visitors emerged. Quam flinched but didn’t move.

  ​Two came up to the midline. One held a panel exactly copying Micheletti’s offer. The second’s panel said ‘HANDSHAKE.’

  ​A surge of relief went through him. He stepped forward and held out a hand.

  ​The Visitor just reached out with a front leg. The tendrils pressed against Micheletti’s palm. Suddenly he was eight years old, plunging his hand into the bait shop worm bucket on a dare.

  ​The Visitor pulled its leg back, shaking it before putting it back on the floor.

  ​Micheletti wondered how his skin had felt to the alien.

  ​He wrote ‘ASK PRESIDENT SENATE YES’ on a panel and wrapped up the session.

  ​Now it was time to write a report. Once it was sent off he called McNair.

  ​“Hold on, son,” said the general. “If you have a treaty drafted the President wants to be conferenced in.”

  ​A moment later the President’s folksy tones came across the secure channel. “Hello, Ambassador Micheletti. I hear you’ve done some good work for us. I appreciate your rising to the occasion. Why don’t you summarize this for me.”

  ​“Thank you, Mr. President.” He went over the story of the aliens. “I’ve offered them one third of the Moon, on the far side, and protecting them from the pirates in exchange for all their technology. They don’t have faster than light travel or antigravity, but they do have a reactionless drive, fusion energy from lithium or sodium, precision molecular assembly, and genetically engineered organisms.”

  ​Speed of light delayed the President’s answer a second. “Protecting them from other aliens doesn’t sound like it’s within our capabilities. And what do I say to voters freaking out over the Moon being full of spiders?”

  ​“Sir, I’d suggest reminding them that the spiders gave them cheap electricity and carbon-free air travel. Those same technologies will let us build advanced warships. Our bodies can handle four times the acceleration the Visitors can, which will give us tactical superiority. And if the pirates come here we’ll want to kick their ass anyway.”

  ​“That we will.” The President chuckled. “My staff will go through this. I don’t see any objections to it right now. You can tell your spider friends that. Good work, Mr. Ambassador.”

  ​“Thank you, sir.”

  ​There were some clicks. Then General McNair said, “It’s just me now. Well done, Micheletti, and Dr. Quam too. Go take a day off.”

  ​“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The call ended.

  ​Quam said, “I’m going to spend my day off sleeping.”

  ​“Good plan. Please ask Turley to have one of his people teach them electromagnetism words tomorrow.”

  ​“Okay.”

  ​Micheletti turned to one of the communications technicians. “Can I call an Earth phone on this rig?”

  ​“No, sir. We can’t do unsecure voice. But you can text.”

  ​Micheletti typed Julie’s number into a terminal. “Hey honey. They gave me a break. How are you?”

  ​Julie replied, “I’m good. Coming home soon? Athena’s good too. See:”

  ​A picture appeared showing Micheletti’s pet tarantula balanced on his girlfriend’s hand, legs interlaced with fingers.

  ​He typed, “Don’t know when this assignment will end. Hey, have you ever considered doing government work?”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Karl K. Gallagher served as a crew commander and mission planner in U.S. Space Command in the 1990s. This let him wave his Space Command patch at people who freaked out over the Space Force logo. Since leaving USAF he's been a defense contractor working on weather satellites and fighter jets. He's written the Prometheus Award-nominated Torchship Trilogy, available on Amazon and Audible, as well as several other novels and short stories.