“You heard what it said about using force?” Callan asked, his tone serious.
“Yes, sir,” Savannah replied immediately.
“Sort of,” Sierra admitted.
Callan glanced back at them. “It’s not allowed to hurt us unless we threaten it. So don’t point weapons at it, don’t… just—don’t do anything,” he sputtered.
Savannah was quick again. “Yes, sir.”
But it was Sierra he was staring at.
“What?” she asked, defiant. “Don’t start nothin’, won’t be nothin’.”
Callan huffed a short laugh, in spite of himself.
----
The drone moved awkwardly on its three arm-like legs, lurching forward with each step. It didn’t so much walk as throw itself forward, landing rather than striding.
Was that energy-efficient?
Now that Callan had a moment to really consider the thing, its entire design seemed… off.
Why three legs? Four seemed the obvious choice—more stable, easier to balance. Sure, an extra limb meant more materials, more power consumption, another point of failure—but still. Three?
And why were they all attached at the same end, like tails, instead of spaced evenly?
It looked like a squid, Callan thought. A fat squid.
***
Squidward led them back to the “clearing.”
Savannah’s description had been accurate.
It wasn’t a true clearing—it had just as many trees as the forest around it—but there was a distinct line of delineation.
A point where the trees were newer, straighter, taller.
And the forest floor was eerily clear of debris.
No old roots poking out, no fallen branches, no boulders. Even small rocks were few and far between.
The entire area was much younger than the surrounding forest.
And almost perfectly circular.
—
Sierra broke the silence. “What are you calling it?”
“Squidward,” Callan replied, grinning to himself.
“Why Squidward?”
“My brother liked old cartoons.”
Sierra furrowed her brow, flipping through old references—Bugs, Daffy, Pooh—before frowning. “What’s Squidward from?”
Callan gave her a sideways look. “SpongeBob SquarePants.”
Sierra had to process that for a moment.
“…Are you having a stroke?”
“Possibly.”
Callan dismounted, giving Raulski two firm pats with one hand, while looping her reins over a low branch. “Leave the horses here. Dogs too.”
Savannah eventually fished the leads from her overflowing saddlebags. Shaking loose a tangled mess of rope, a folded poncho, at least two batteries, and what looked like a vacuum-sealed package of emergency rations. She frowned at it before stuffing it back inside.
"Is your whole room in there?" Sierra rolled her eyes as her sister struggled.
"Prepared is prepared," Savannah muttered, clipping the leads onto Tracer and Junkrat's collars.
Junkrat sat unmoving, while Tracer practically vibrated with excitement.
She was going to be very disappointed when she realized she was being left behind.
“For your own good,” Savannah offered sympathetically.
Callan gave a small grunt of approval, turning to find their escort.
—-
Squidward waited silently, about 20 yards ahead of them; as far as it could go without having to round a tree and break line of sight.
Callan wondered what it would do if they just turned and left.
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He had considered it, and was deeply concerned that too much of his better judgement was being overwritten by his curiosity, maybe it was time to see if it would answer some more questions.
“Where are we going?” Callan asked, without moving any closer to Squidward– Hoping it would think it needed to answer if it wanted Callan to follow.
"Escorting to Host Vessel."
"Why?"
"Diplomatic protocols are authorized in emergent situations. In cases where no authorized biological sapient is available, diplomatic interactions are to be conducted by Vessel Control Systems."
Callan exhaled slowly, turning the words over in his mind. No authorized biological sapient available. That implied a few things.
First, it was clear there was a hierarchy—one that this thing, Squidward, wasn’t at the top of.
And… something else. ‘Biological sapient’ was a term you only needed if you also had artificial sapients.
"Define ‘emergent situation,’" he pressed, still holding his ground.
Squidward hesitated—if such a thing was possible for a machine. It stood motionless for a noticeable beat before answering.
"Emergency requiring deviation from established protocols."
"Helpful," Sierra muttered.
Callan frowned, focusing on the second part of the thing’s original statement. "Diplomatic interaction with vessel control systems… You’re saying we need to talk to your ship’s artificial intelligence?"
"Correct."
Humans had a—complex—relationship with artificial intelligence.
Low-level AI were common, but true sapience?
That was different.
We didn’t produce those anymore.
It didn’t go well.
And it was highly illegal.
Callan decided to test something. "And if we don't?"
A longer pause this time.
"Failure to engage with established diplomatic protocols increases likelihood of misinterpretation."
Callan didn’t like that wording.
"Misinterpretation?" Savannah echoed.
"Insufficient data to determine outcome."
A catch-all way of saying bad things could happen.
Callan glanced back at the girls, measuring their expressions. Savannah watched the drone, wary but not frightened.
Sierra, arms crossed, looked as defiant as ever.
Neither of them seemed ready to back out.
Neither was he.
Dammit.
"Fine," Callan said at last, shifting his weight forward. "We'll go."
He turned back to the drone. "Lead the way."
Immediately, Squidward lurched forward, throwing itself into motion once again, leading them deeper into the unnatural part of the forest.
***
The rock was not what Callan had expected.
It was large, black, smooth, and buried—just as described.
But he had pictured an egg, stuck halfway in the ground. He couldn’t recall if that was how they’d described it, or if his mind had just conjured the image.
But this was not an egg in the ground.
To Callan's eye, it was obviously a sphere that had been mostly buried.
Judging by the size of the exposed portion, it was massive—large enough to fit the house, the barn, and everything in between, at least.
Possibly much larger. He was struggling to picture the full shape from just this fragment.
As they approached, it opened.
Seamlessly.
Literally, there had been no seams. The edges of the opening ended exactly where the grass and earth began.
The revealed entrance was about seven meters wide, large enough for all three of them to walk through side by side.
A ramp led downward into absolute darkness.
Squidward moved toward the entrance, "Power levels critical. Active interface locations limited to: Bridge. Engineering. Please proceed to Bridge. or, Engineering. and engage with Vessel Control Systems."
"It’s pitch black," Savannah pointed out.
"Power levels critical," Squidward repeated. "Please proceed to Bridge or Engineering."
A thin string of soft white lights flickered to life along the center of the ramp, pulsing slowly forward into the darkness.
Beckoning them.
"I have a torch in my saddlebags," Savannah volunteered.
"So much for ‘prepared is prepared,’" Sierra snarked.
"Do you have one at all?" Vannah shot back. She was more annoyed with herself than her sister, but preferred to take it out on Sierra.
"Girls."
Callan's tone was the eerily calm one he used when things were serious.
They stopped bickering.
"This might be a mistake, and it’s too big for me.
It’s too much, too fast.
I need help.
Do we go in?"
Savannah hesitated.
Sierra didn’t.
"We’re already here," Sierra said. "If we walk away now, we’ll just wonder."
Savannah exhaled sharply. "Fine. But I want my torch."
Callan nodded. "Make it quick."
Savannah jogged back to the horses while Sierra stared down the dark ramp, arms crossed. "Feels like a trap."
"Maybe," was all Callan could offer.
***
By the time Savannah returned, the ramp lights had brightened slightly, as though responding to their commitment.
Callan took the lead, stepping onto the metal surface, boots clicking against it. It was solid, sturdy—smoother than human construction, no texture for grip.
They moved cautiously down the ramp, the pulsing lights guiding them deeper.
The darkness swallowed them quickly as the entrance shrank behind them.
Then, with a faint hum, the ship responded. More lights flickered on along the walls, revealing sleek, curved corridors. The temperature shifted—warmer now, but not uncomfortably so. The air was thin but breathable, tinged with something metallic.
Squidward trailed behind them.
Callan followed the path the lights gave him until it opened into a wide chamber. Consoles lined the walls, dark screens staring back at them. A pair of what could only be seats sat in the center; more bowl shaped than a human chair, but still clearly a chair, with a raised back rest and flat-ish are for a butt. Or… whatever.
They face a massive, dead display.
And in the seats were aliens.
Fat squid.
Squids?
Squad?
Squid.
Have a favorite animal?
