This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ApertiV on 2024-12-26 14:59:59+00:00.
"Another fucking Earth?," muttered Weiss, tossing a cold cup of instant coffee into the trash. “It’s a goddamn mirror. Same plate tectonics, same atmospheric composition. Hell, same anthropogenic carbon spikes in their goddamn atmosphere. Somebody tell me I’m hallucinating.”
The planet loomed in the digital vista of the observatory’s enhanced visualization array, an uncanny mirror of Earth suspended in a sea of infinite black. Its oceans reflected the same hues of blue-green serenity, its continents arranged with a haunting familiarity, and even the faint artificial glow of cityscapes adorned its nightside.
At the helm of the observatory, Dr. Amara Weiss leaned into her console, her eyes bloodshot from weeks of ceaseless work. Around her, the control room hummed with quiet chaos, the low thrum of servers mingling with the clipped voices of her team. Data scrolled across the screens faster than the human eye could process, and overhead, a looping AI voice quietly reminded: “Priority Transmission: Sol Command requesting confirmation of all observations.”
Behind her, Ravi Patel, the team’s astrophysicist, scoffed. “If this is a hallucination, Amara, it’s a group fucking one. Every spectrum check aligns. The planet even spins at 23.9 hours.”
“And the radio signals,” chimed in Valeriya Sokolova, their cryptography expert. “We’ve isolated their broadcast band—FM and AM primarily. It’s like listening to a goddamn time capsule.” She gestured to the speakers, where faint echoes of static-laden music drifted through: 90s pop, talk radio, even a garbled advertisement for something called ‘Schmidt’s SuperMart.’
Weiss stared at the projected image of the planet, her lips curling into a bitter smirk. “They’re us, aren’t they? Or something damn close. Late 21st century, on the cusp of self-destruction or salvation. And we’re just sitting here, like voyeurs, watching their history play out.”
The revelation had escalated to the highest echelons of humanity’s fragile governance. What had begun as a curiosity in the orbital observatories of Earth’s L5 station quickly spiraled into an existential debate. The United Nations Coalition for Space Exploration (UNCSE), long fractured by post-resource-collapse geopolitics, found itself thrust into reluctant unity.
In the sterile command room of the UNS Celestial Vanguard, Captain Malik Adebayo stood amidst his bridge officers, their faces grim with the weight of the mission. The ship was an Ark-class exploration vessel, bristling with every piece of diplomatic and defensive technology humanity could scrape together.
"Let’s be clear," Malik began, his voice razor-sharp, "this isn’t some Star Trek kumbaya shit. The odds of this going sideways are off the fucking charts. We are not gods, not saviors. We are diplomats—begrudgingly. And if this goes bad, we’ve got protocols to make sure we come out of it alive."
Commander Lin Tao snorted from her seat. “Relax, Captain. Worst case, they think we’re aliens and throw rocks at us. Best case, we show them what a quantum comm system looks like, and they think we’re gods.”
“Don’t make me regret bringing you, Lin,” Malik growled, though his tone carried a trace of amusement.
The briefing continued, heavy on technical jargon: phased-array communication lasers, quantum-encrypted message packets, and contingencies for cultural contamination. Each officer took their turn presenting—linguistics experts, cultural historians, even a goddamn PR officer from the Earth Alliance Media Directorate, who insisted humanity’s image be preserved “for posterity.”
The first attempt at communication was simple: a radio transmission on their FM band.
“This is Captain Malik Adebayo of the UNS Celestial Vanguard. We come in peace. We are explorers from the Sol System, seeking knowledge and understanding.” The translation AI rendered his words into half a dozen Earth languages, cycling through Mandarin, English, Hindi, and more.
For hours, nothing but static. Then, a burst of sound—a response.
“... bullshit prank ... FCC violation ... whoever’s broadcasting this, cut it out before we trace you...”
Malik pinched the bridge of his nose. “Great. They think we’re a bunch of assholes with a ham radio. Lin, send the video transmission.”
The bridge crew tensed as the feed went live: a holographic image of Malik in full uniform, standing before the UNS insignia, his face calm but commanding.
“People of... the other Earth,” he began, the words feeling surreal even as he spoke them, “this is not a prank. We are not from your world but from one very much like it. We are here to learn, to understand. Please, respond.”
The screen flickered. Then came the face of a man in a rumpled shirt, his eyes sunken and skeptical. Behind him, the banner of a TV studio.
“This is WZRD-13 News, Milwaukee,” the man said, half-laughing. “Uh... who the hell are you guys, and why do you look like an Amazon Prime sci-fi series?”
“He’s taking the piss,” Lin muttered, earning a snort from the comms officer.
“Stay professional,” Malik hissed. He adjusted his tone, his practiced diplomacy kicking in. “Mister, I assure you this is no fiction. We are representatives of the United Nations Coalition for Space Exploration, based on a parallel version of your Earth. Our mission is one of peace and discovery.”
The figure in the feed blinked, his skeptical expression shifting to something between confusion and curiosity. “Parallel Earth? So, like... some multiverse shit? Did Elon Musk cook this up before he disappeared in ’45?”
Malik’s lips twitched in irritation. “We’re more than willing to provide proof. Perhaps your government would prefer to handle these discussions?”
The man chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, good luck with that. Our government’s been a shitshow since the Resource Wars. Best you’ll get is some bureaucrat from the Unified Earth Council trying to spin this for votes.”
“Resource Wars?” Lin whispered to Malik, her brow furrowing. He filed it away for later.
The anchor leaned forward, his tone shifting. “Alright, let’s say I believe you. What do you guys want? Why risk blowing our collective minds with... whatever this is?”
Malik hesitated. It was a fair question—one he’d been asking himself since the mission began. He straightened, his voice firm. “We believe our worlds have much to learn from one another. Your history mirrors our own in many ways, and understanding those parallels could benefit both our civilizations.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And what’s the catch?”
“No catch,” Malik said. “But cooperation requires trust. And trust starts with communication.”
The journalist’s skeptical facade cracked just slightly. “Okay. I’ll bite. But if you guys turn out to be some kind of alien overlords, don’t say I didn’t warn everyone.” He smirked. “You’ve got my number. Good luck convincing the rest of the planet.”
Before Malik could respond, Lin Tao, monitoring the secondary channels, perked up. “Sir, we’ve got chatter. Their military is picking this up. Looks like NORAD has intercepted the signal.”
“Perfect,” Malik muttered, his patience thinning. He signaled Lin to mute their feed temporarily. “Keep this guy on the line for now, but prepare a more formal message for the brass. If they’re as trigger-happy as we were in the 21st century, we need to tread carefully.”
Lin grinned. “Oh, come on. Where’s your sense of adventure, Captain? A little chaos makes things interesting.”
Malik shot her a glare. “Not when nukes are on the table.”
The hours that followed were a shitstorm of mistrust, wonder, and cultural whiplash. Governments scrambled to classify the discovery. Religious leaders proclaimed it a miracle or a heresy. Social media platforms on both planets exploded into chaos, conspiracy theories running rampant.
On the UNS Celestial Vanguard, Malik watched as the chaos unfolded through intercepted broadcasts and hacked data streams.
“Jesus,” muttered Lin, scrolling through a mirrored Earth’s version of Twitter. “#FakeAliens is trending. So is #SecondEarthHoax. These idiots think it’s some elaborate PR stunt.”
Barely fifteen minutes later, the UNS Celestial Vanguard detected a new transmission, this time originating from a hardened military uplink. The message was brief, terse, and to the point:
“This is General Alicia Perez, United States Strategic Command. Identify yourself, your location, and your intentions immediately, or we will consider this a hostile incursion.”
“Shit,” Lin said under her breath, glancing at Malik. “They’re not screwing around.”
Malik nodded grimly. “Alright, patch me through. Full diplomatic mode.”
When the link stabilized, the face of General Perez filled the monitor. She was a woman of indeterminate age, her expression carved from stone, her uniform immaculate. Behind her, a war room buzzed with activity, figures moving like shadows across rows of monitors.
“General Perez,” Malik began, his tone measured. “I’m Captain Malik Adebayo of the UNS Celestial Vanguard. We are an exploratory vessel from a parallel Earth. Our mission is peaceful—we seek knowledge, not conflict.”
Perez’s eyes narrowed. “Parallel Earth. That’s a hell of a claim, Captain. You’ve got about thirty seconds to convince me you’re not some advanced adversary testing our defenses.”
Malik resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Our origins can be verified. We’ve transmitted data packets containing quantum-stabilized isotopic signatures unique to our universe. I suggest your phy...
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