u/Corvun_Chad_ — reddlx

An: Sorry this took me so long, swim, work and finals have been killing me, I really tried on this and I’m sorry it’s late. Please give me feedback and enjoy

I stared at the disk with deep wonder and dismay. The pure gold plate was definitely more than its surface value suggested as decoration. I began to put pencil to paper, feeling the slightly rough sensation coming back into my hand, the light resistance and the unique scratches that you simply can’t get from anything else.

My team and peers had all thought I was strange for using notebooks instead of PDAs or even old computer terminals. However, the nature of notebooks was always far more appealing to me. There was the tactile touch of a pencil—or really any writing utensil. I especially loved diamond pens on quartz sheets, although erasing can be a bit of a pain. It is quite convenient that I almost never make mistakes, like a true Peleatorian researcher. And if I did, the burns I would get from the hydrofluoric acid would teach me otherwise, given its ability to completely destroy the sheet.

All this is to say: I like having complete control over my thoughts, mistakes and all. Because not all
mistakes are bad ones.

And because I had control over my thoughts—not some neural system that tried to read and interpret my brain, which would quite struggle to do anyway, the foolish thing—I worked quicker, and my intentions were always far more pure. I hated computers for a similar reason. Typing took away direct control, forcing ideas into digital characters. No unique models from my brain, just stripped-down typed notes. It was foolhardy given the way I always conduct my research.

I digress. You and your feeble little mind didn’t want to hear that, most likely. Though as I found in that damn disc, you’re not really all that feeble—I just think reminiscing has me returning to my pompous ass of a self. Not that I mind. Most of the time I’m right in what I say… unless it’s with my [^]%~>_*[, she always wins the arguments…

Sorry, sorry—I got distracted again, didn’t I? I apologize. I know this memoir has been mostly formal, with some notes here and there. I find myself wanting to share my person through this recounting of one of the galaxy’s most important discoveries. This journey not only changed the galaxy but my entire person. So I suppose this story from here on out is no longer just my feeble recollections—it’s my personal story as well.

Back to what you came to read this for.
(My editor is going to hate me with a passion. I think I’ll release this unfiltered version to the public after some time.)

I studied the plate for about 15 tecas, making notes of its size, weight, and composition, as well as the finer details on it. I noticed the clear inscriptions drew a small star map of sorts. And dear lord was it primitive—but nonetheless, just like the rest of this blasted hunk of metal, it worked.
I knew that it was a chart, and I knew that it could be deciphered. Moreover, I saw grooves in a certain part, circular in nature. I ran my hand—per se—over the grooves. I wondered what they could possibly be.

Decorations were simply too bland unless it was a blind species, but given the visual star map that didn’t make sense. Structural support was out of the question as it was literally just a hunk of gold. And finally, there was no code… at least it seemed so for now.

The placement and creation were clearly purposeful and intentional, although not very intuitive. Somehow, this yet again proved to me how unintelligent and primitive they were. I snorted at that thought—the idea that another primitive, pre-FTL civilization thought their ways were universal.
In all that time, I managed to gather that information in what I have been informed is called minutes—15 to be exact. The first precision machines showed up, and I began to work.

I had a more precise measurement of what it was made of, and I found it a little disappointing at first. It was solid copper plated with high-purity gold. Depending on the metallurgy capabilities of the species, this could have been highly valuable—maybe even their entire supply of high-purity gold.
But nevertheless, I was still a little disappointed after thinking on it for a moment.

I studied and studied the plate for another two full rotations, wracking my brain, running over mathematical sequences, ratios, ciphers, and anything under the sequence star I sat in. I bounced between the plate and the star map about every two or so Galactic Standard hours.

On the third rotation, I had finally cracked the star map. Their homeworld was in a previously undiscovered system in the galaxy. It sat on the far edge, barely within the proper influence of the galaxy. We weren’t sure why we hadn’t discovered it earlier—but now we saw why.
In retrospect, we likely didn’t include it in the definition of “in the galaxy” when the HGS mapped it millennia ago.

It was a binary star system: eight planets, four gas and four solid. Average. It was violently average. My excitement began to wane as I realized how truly unremarkable they were.
We would likely come down and observe them and see another pacifist, scared, unimaginative species. A shame.

I hated contact with these species. It was awful—boring and uninspiring. When my species, the Peleatorians, came into the HGS, we were one of three non-prey, heroin-spiked, and “imaginative” species.

Particularly the heroin we would produce when in what was referred to as a “fight or die” response. We would either die from an extreme heroin overdose in a mental mercy killing, or it would release a small amount to relax and dull our pain.
All this is to say: I hated this first-contact bullshit.
Even then, I cursed—one of the few times I would when I was young.

I called it a rotation after figuring that out. I was done, simply put. My interest began to settle into the back of my mind, foolishly in retrospect. I had resigned myself to yet another boring research assignment.