Commander Storm wanted to start the first contact mission with the humans by stealing their clothing. Ice Silverkiller, the Minister of Science of the Imperial Crimea, instantaneously filled with dread, sensing an impending disaster in the making.

“I don’t think we should do that, Commander,” he gently rebuked him, shaking his head. His pale long hair rippled like silk. Storm might hold the highest authority in this ship but Ice was the leader of their expedition. He should have the final say. “It’s a bad idea.”

One of Storm’s thick brows arched, a skeptical look on his face. “How is it a bad idea?”

“I’m afraid it might bring unwanted attention to ourselves.”

“And you think we won’t with the attire we have now?” Storm asked pointedly. He waved at the garments that the ensign from logistics had brought to the ship’s bridge for inspection. Ice and Storm were supposed to wear those on the mission. The clothing itself was finely made. The problem was the style. It was outdated. Way too outdated. “We can’t blend in with the humans if we stand out.”

As much as Ice hated to admit it, Storm’s concern carried weight. But the thought of the hulking, menacing-looking Storm raiding an unsuspecting human’s laundry pile conjured unpleasant images in his mind. He could already see the humans traumatized by the experience. It wasn’t a great way to start a mission.

---

So far, their farthest intergalactic expedition in their history—to Earth—had been riddled with problems since conception. They hadn’t gathered enough data about the Earthlings when the emperor rushed the mission. Because Crimeans were enlightened that the closest species like them in the universe was human, the crew were sent to study the habit of human mating in hopes that they could implement the practice to their own people. The birthrate had flatlined in the last decade. If this continued, Crimea’s future was in jeopardy.

Unlike Crimea, the human population grew explosively despite famine, natural disasters, and wars over millennia. If this expedition could uncover the secret behind the human population, perhaps, it could save their home planet of Crimea.

Ice’s researchers at the Department of the Study of Humanology used powerful relay satellites that absorbed broadcasts from SETI and others for years, studying human languages and customs and even then, the scientists hadn’t gotten everything right. Like the garments Ice and the company were wearing. It turned out the Crimean humanologists had made a grave mistake. Somehow, they miscalculated the era of the clothes fashioned for Ice and company. They were a few centuries out of date. No present-day humans wore tight, fitted pants with ruffled neck shirts anymore.

Campania V—their mothership—was suspended above the earth’s atmosphere, heavily cloaked against earthling’s satellites and radars. Its active live scan showed them all kinds of broadcasts that didn’t reach their solar system—the Proxima Centauri Galaxy. The past seventy-two Crimean standard hours after the Campania stopped flying in superluminal speed had been a revelation for them.

Before, the branch science of humanology was treated more like an art than exact science. The Crimean scientists had to piece together information received through old broadcasts to learn about an alien species called human. Now that the Campania was able to freely tap a wealth of information through thousands of satellites in orbit, half of the hypotheses made by the scientists were debunked. Due to the overwhelming information Campania’s crew received, the scientists had to make hasty alterations to their plan. Like their initial plan to infiltrate and try to blend in among humans. Without appropriate garb, they were going to stand out. Even though the Crimeans shared ninety-nine percent of their genetic similarity with humans and possessed the same physical appearances, their unique trait of long, silvery, braided hair and ice-chip colored eyes didn’t seem to be shared by many humans within the reach of Campania imaging devices. They would probably appear to be foreigners no matter what they did. Therefore, having appropriate costumes were imperative to this first contact operation’s success.

“And how do you propose we conduct this grand theft of garb?” asked Ambassador Grim with a resigned tone. As a high-ranking member of the Tempest Court, he was the oldest officer in the Campania expedition crew. Ambassador Grim was famous across Crimea as someone with strict moral codes and high personal integrity. Naturally, he resented any underhanded scheme in the making.

“We pick an empty home and raid the wardrobe. Simple,” said Commander Storm in a nonchalant manner. “I did it many times in my misguided youth.”

Somehow, Ice wasn’t surprised.

Ambassador Grim didn’t look happy. “We cannot begin our mission by committing larceny, Commander, no matter how adventurous and colorful your adolescent time might have been. You have to consider my position as an ambassador to Earth. Think about our emperor’s honor if we get caught! We are the proud Crimea, the noble race of warriors and scholars, not thieves.”

“Your Venerable, I wasn’t planning on getting caught,” Captain Storm retorted.

“But you might.”

Captain Storm crossed his arms, looking irritated. “No. I won’t.”

“There’s a probability that you might.”

“Well, if you’d like to get specific, Your Venerable, the chance is within zero point zero zero zero zero one percent probability—”

“Please,” Ice intervened. “This problem will not be solved by arguments. Can we not just purchase the clothes legally? Besides, some humans like to dress up in costumes as an amusement. What were they called?” Ice asked Fern, one of his scientists who specialized in the study of Contemporary Human Behavior and Habitat.

“Cosplaying,” said Fern, eagerly, “It’s when humans clad themselves in costumes as their favorite characters from popular digital literature and act out their fantasies. This mimicking behavior is especially popular with the younger populations. They even hold contests among themselves to see who can copy the characters most flawlessly. It called Animecon.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Captain Storm with a pained expression. “Why would they copy fictitious characters? What is the merit in doing that?”

Ambassador Grim looked thoughtful. “Someone mentioned to me that humans liked to indulge in entertainment to excess and that it bred a whole generation of mental-stimulated addicts. These types of humans cannot forgo a moment without compulsion to connect into their worldwide virtual broadcast.”

“Is that so? Does this worldwide virtual broadcast help to inspire humans to procreate, though?” Storm sounded intrigued.

“Pardon me, I believe we were discussing how to procure human clothing to help us blend in during our first-contact mission,” Ice said impatiently. Left to their own devices, this meeting would certainly go nowhere.

“Oh, sorry. Do please go on,” said Ambassador Grim.

“We descend and assess the situation once we are on the ground. At the first chance we’re able to make clothing purchases, we’ll do so before we continue with our itinerary.” Ice waved at a box containing essential accessories to use during the first-contact mission. “My team has fashioned digital currency cards to make the purchases.” He picked up a stack of Visa cards. “And we also have gold coins in the event we need to barter.”

Ambassador Grim eyed the Visa cards critically. “Will these things work?” He sounded uncertain. Using plastic cards as digital currency hadn’t been practiced in Crimea in more than half a century. The obsolete banking technology was easily exploited by law-breakers. These days, all banking transactions were done by using people’s neural-terminals. Each Crimean was implanted with neuracomp in their cerebellum as soon as their birth or decanting. The neuracomp acted as a secondary inorganic processor that would assist that person’s everyday tasks: memorization, boosting language capability, learning new sets of skills to entertain, and banking.

“It will,” said Ice with confidence. “Hacking into the humans’ banking system was an easy and straightforward procedure. Our tech department created a phantom account that siphons dozens of financial institution sources and will allow us to fund our immediate purchases.”

“Isn’t that a different form of larceny?” Ambassador Grim asked pointedly.

“I’d prefer to call it ‘advance credits,’ Your Venerable. As soon as we establish a base camp on Earth, we will refund these advance credits with generous interest via the sale of precious metals,” said Ice. Gold, silver, and platinum had ceased being used as currency in Crimea when they discovered that one of their two moons was absurdly abundant with valuable ores. They established mines on the moon and soon those precious metals made their way to Crimea as common wares: tables, chairs, and most importantly, parts used in spaceships. The crew came prepared with precious gems, rare metals and exotic flora from non-carbon based life forms as currency for trading. When they found out that metals like gold and platinum were valuable, they gathered unused parts and melted them down into coin, to be used as currency.

“Well,” Ambassador Grim drew a long-suffering sigh, “It seems we cannot avoid some unsavory practices on our part in this early stage of our mission. I, with a heavy heart, have no choice but to comply with your decision, Minister Silverkiller.”

Ice winced inwardly to hear his name in English translation.

Thinking of the Commander as Storm, and of himself as Ice, hadn’t been easy. Those were the closest translations from their native language to English, which was the language typically spoken in the part of earth where they’d land. The Crimean linguists had fashioned a rapid-response translator device integrated directly into their BRI implant interface. So when the crew communicated with the natives, they spoke the language directly as if they’d mastered the language themselves. Thinking in a new language was the best way to really understand both it and the people who spoke it. So then he’d started thinking of himself as Ice, and the Commander as Storm, and the ambassador as Grim, and tried to incorporate this new language into his mental processes as much as possible.

Their mission to learn about human love rituals and mating habits in the hope that such knowledge could help solve the pressing social problems on Crimea depended on how flawlessly they could blend in with the general population. What better way to understand the concepts of love and courtship than to get a feel for their language?

Commander Storm, on the other hand, seemed to lack intellectual curiosity about this place and its people, and was hyper-focused on completing the mission. Ice guessed that was the difference between a scientist like himself and a military man.

Two Crimea Standard Hours after they wrapped up the meeting, an all-terrain cruiser was launched from the mothership into the earth’s atmosphere. The cruiser was piloted by Commander Storm. In this first contact mission, they had decided that only Storm and Ice would make the landing. Once Ice found a suitable place to set up an observation camp, the rest of the crew would follow. Besides studying humans, the scientists were also expected to collect samples of specimens of earth’s incredible arrays of floras and faunas.

The outer hull of the compact cruiser flamed with fire as it came in contact with Earth’s atmosphere, due its rapid velocity. Commander Storm slowed the speed of the cruiser as they descended further to Earth. The closer they plunged to the Earth’s surface, the more uncomfortably Ice felt the impact on his body. The gravity in Crimea was lighter than Earth. Heaviness and extreme fatigue cloyed in his muscles and flesh.

“Now is a good time to take your nanoenhancive serum,” said Commander Storm through the COMM link. “I notice your pulse is slightly irregular.” He tapped a small screen on his console where the biometric response of the passengers was carefully recorded. “First time descent can disrupt the body’s metabolism. This is true especially for civilians.”

Ice grabbed the survival pack and injected himself in the thigh. The serum worked instantly and made him feel normal again. “I didn’t see you take it,” he remarked at the pilot.

Commander Storm shrugged. “I’m a military man. I’ve been through countless descents.”

Ice snorted. This wasn’t his first either. He’d been to Crimea’s moon several times, but this was his first to a foreign planet and a foreign solar system.

The cruiser shook as they approached the Earth’s surface. Ice observed through the cockpit shield as the landscape of the blue planet welcomed them in her wide-swallowing cerulean embrace. The blue turned green and before long, they found themselves surrounded by thick vegetation as the cruiser deployed the anti-gravity field to absorb the landing shock. The cloaking system operated on one hundred percent capability, shielding them from any radar that might pick up the signal of their arrival. The hiss and soft whirr of machines painted the background. Five minutes later, Ice and Commander Storm stepped on Earth’s soil for the first time.

Dried twigs and leaves crunched softly beneath their boots. The breeze was surprisingly pleasant, more so than he originally anticipated. Ice had arranged the landing zone in a place called the Wolf Lake Park Reserve. It offered ample space to hide the now-invisible cruiser, but close enough to the heart of human population.

With his mental tap, Ice opened the BCI—Brain Computer Interface—through his neural implant to find out the local time. Within his peripheral field, a toggle flipped down and revealed twenty minutes to dawn. He then activated the record function to capture everything he saw from his retinas.

Following a local map, they walked into a nearby town called Whiting, Indiana. According to his calculation, this place was strategic to launch their first-contact mission.

They encountered their first human about ten minutes into the walk. It was a young male with a scrawny body and narrow face. His hair was the color of murky water and his garb hung loose on his thin frame. The human watched them with its mouth hung open.

“That alien is staring at us,” Commander Storm whispered at Ice.

“We are the aliens, Commander,” Ice reminded him. “This is their planet.” Ice waved at the human, attempting a human-style greeting he learned from the broadcast.

The young male didn’t return Ice’s gesture. Instead, he pulled out a thin rectangular device and aimed it in their direction.

Storm tensed. His hand automatically groped where he kept his weapon. Ice stopped him. It appeared Storm’s combat conditioning made him sensitive for any sign of hostility.

“What is he doing?” Storm growled.

“Probably recording us. He must deem us as oddities and want to share what he sees with his friends. Humans are very social creatures.”

“Shall I shoot him?”

“Don’t you dare.” Ice shoved Commander Storm to move forward. “Don’t. You. Dare! Just ignore him and continue our walk.”

“I don’t like the idea of our presence being recorded. Are you sure I can’t shoot him? There are seven billion humans on this planet. They won’t miss one.”

“Commander!” Ice hissed through his teeth. “This is why I insisted to be on this first-contact mission. Had you sent your recon unit, you’d massacre half the planet.” Ice insisted that the military followed his instruction in this expedition. Common protocol required Crimea commanders and high-ranking crew stay on the ship when they landed on a foreign planet. Initiating first contact was the scouts’ job. When Storm found out Ice planned to descend by himself, he demanded that he accompany Ice. Protocol also dictated military presence in government-funded missions.

“Well.” Commander Storm huffed indignantly. “It just so happens I prefer a straightforward approach. It’s easier to conquer this planet and force them to spill their secrets. Hang a few dozen corpses in the rafters and they’ll be eager to talk.”

“Absolutely not. Emperor Chaos entrusted this mission to me and we’ll do this my way. That includes you, Commander.”

“Suit yourself. Don’t ask for my help when the humans truss you up like a swine and carry you on a bamboo pole to your unlucky demise. I don’t see how anyone can still be alive after being stewed in a giant cauldron.”

Ice felt his temple with his fingertips as a headache closed in. “Modern humans do not practice that barbaric ritual anymore. Besides, the broadcast you watched yesterday was a movie; not an educational documentary.”

“Fictitious film?”

“Yes.”

Commander Storm grumbled. “I don’t understand humans.”

“That is why we’re here.”

“Well.” Storm glanced around. “We’d better go do something about our appearance if we want to blend in. More and more humans are looking at us suspiciously.”

He was right. As they got closer to the residence area, their presence attracted unsuspecting onlookers. Ice spotted a store that seemed to be selling men’s clothing. He pounced at the chance to make his first purchase. He signaled Commander Storm to follow his lead.

The shop was called “Thrift Store” and they stocked used goods from clothing to furniture and items that looked strange to him. The shop hadn’t opened yet, but Ice caught the sight of its shopkeeper. The human seemed surprised to see them. He unlocked the door and let them in.

“Good morning, sire. We’d like to purchase some men’s clothes. The regular men’s clothes. Do you have them?” asked Ice. “We’re in town for a convention.”

The shopkeeper scrutinized them from head to toe. “No shit. Are you guys larping or something?” he asked with curiosity.

Ice inclined his head with a flourish. “We are thespian, my good man.”

“Hear ye, hear ye,” added Commander Storm, on cue, as he’d been briefed earlier.

“Right.” The man gave out a little piggish snort. “Follow me.” He led them to the back of the store where several rows of hanging racks were laden with carelessly tossed men’s clothing. “This is what we have right now. Nothing fancy. Did you guys lose your luggage or something?”

“Indeed. Just our luck.” Ice feigned distress.

The man shrugged. “Let me know if you find something you like.”

“Much obliged.”

As soon as the shopkeeper was out of their earshot, Storm whispered conspiratorially, “I think we’ve wandered into a used clothing store.”

Ice rolled his eyes. “That’s quite obvious, isn’t it?”

Storm picked up a raggedy-looking hat with distaste. “I’d like to revise my previous observation. This is a refuse store. This place is ripe with a myriad of health code violations.” In Crimea, the sale of used goods, especially clothing and intimate items, were prohibited due to safety concerns. Used goods were collected, disinfected, and sent straight to recycling centers.

“Too bad, we have to work with what we have.” Ice rummaged the racks to find something that would fit them. The picking was slim, unfortunately. He was on the tall side. So was Commander Storm, plus his muscular girth. Nevertheless, Ice finally found some clothing that would fit them. He recalled the name of each piece from his researcher’s report: sweatpants, baggy sweater, T-shirt. Wooly duster. They changed their clothes but kept their boots because Ice couldn’t find anything that would fit their sizes. When they emerged in the front of the store, the storekeeper looked even more amused.

“Find anything you like?” he asked Ice. His question was more like a statement.

“These will do.” Ice gave the human his Visa card.

The storekeeper shook his head. “Nah. Keep them. It’s on the house.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“They’re free.”

Ice was stunned. “Much gratitude. But why?”

“You guys are funny.”

The first place Ice wanted to check was the humans’ local library. With computers filled with knowledge about anything related to humans, the place was a treasure trove of information. After checking his BRI interface for the closest location, they found one not far away.

But the library wasn’t open yet and they had to wait outside. Storm was getting grumpier by the Earth-minute as they sat on the concrete steps in front of the building. When a woman approached with keys in her hand, they stood.

“My,” she said with a laugh that sounded nervous to Ice. “Eager readers, are we?” She hesitated before unlocking the door. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in my library before.”

Storm went rigid, almost standing at attention. “No, ma’am. It’s our first visit here. Can you help us find something?”

“Oh, of course I can.” She looked over her shoulder at the parking lot, then unlocked the door and hurried behind the long desk. She pointed at a row of what appeared to be primitive monitors. “Those are all ready to go with the card catalog, but I’m happy to help you if you’re unfamiliar with it.”

“We require information about human love and mating customs,” Storm said. “Where can we find that?”

The woman blinked several times. “Human…sexuality?”

“Yes,” Storm said with enthusiasm. “Human sexual practices, love rituals, the things that lead a man to want to impregnate a woman and—”

“Sir, you’re making me very uncomfortable, to be honest. I’m going to have to ask you to come back at a later time.”

Storm tilted his head. “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable. But if we can just study the things that make humans’ genitals swell and prompt them to—”

“Sir! I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave. You’re welcome to come back later when there are more people here, but I’m uncomfortable right now and telling you to go.” Her hand rested on what Ice had learned was a communication device called a telephone.

“Forgive us,” Ice said, and grabbed Storm’s arm to pull him out of the library.

“I don’t understand.” Storm looked over his shoulder at the woman. “Perhaps these clothes aren’t right after all?”

The female librarian did show a certain disdain of their attire. Perhaps she thought they were vagrants? Ice decided it couldn’t hurt to go into a different store to look. People in libraries might be a higher caste and wear finer garments. Just when he thought he had a grasp of human culture, reality proved him wrong. There was so much of it he didn’t understand.

Two hours later, they stepped out of a store called “Tailor Shoppe” wearing what they’d been assured were the finest of suits. The proprietor had tried to convince them to have the suits altered to fit perfectly, but the ones they’d found were perfect for their needs. And the black Visa card had worked its magic splendidly. It afforded them the finest goods and service. It even got them comfortable shoes that the proprietor dubbed as finest Italian leather loafers. After they changed, the ensemble gave Ice confidence. One human poet named Shakespeare said “the clothes make the man,” and this time, Ice fully understood it. With them dressed like the highest caste of humans, Ice thought they shouldn’t encounter any problems in the library.

On the way back, Ice saw a store called “Used Books.” It made him pause. He hadn’t expected to encounter these ancient paper documents. Crimea hadn’t used tactile formats for information for centuries, and their research said that paper books were rare antiquities on earth too. Between that and the incorrect clothing and currency, a number of researchers might need to be retrained for different jobs.

“Let me handle things this time,” Ice said before asking the approaching clerk where they could find information about how to court a woman. She smiled and pointed them to a section called “Romance.” He gave Storm a smug look. His study of their culture had made a difference already.

Storm plucked a book from the shelf: The Billionaire’s Submissive Bride. He pulled a device from his pocket and scanned a few pages. “You like it rough, don’t you,” Malcolm said as he pulled Tanya over his lap, her bare ass round and ready for his punishment. As his hand made contact with her pale, supple flesh, she whimpered. “Yes, oh yes.”

Storm glanced up at Ice, and read a little more. “I’m gonna spank this sweet ass until you beg me to tie you up and fuck you.”

A woman in the same aisle snapped her head their way and frowned.

“Not so loud,” Ice said. He didn’t know why she frowned, but perhaps she didn’t like Storm’s voice?

Storm nodded and scanned further, then turned to the woman. “May I ask you a question about this book?”

“Storm,” Ice warned.

But the woman shook her head. “I haven’t read it, so I’m not sure how I could help.”

“In it, the female is being spanked by the male. Is this common in females, the desire to be spanked before being tied up and, what was the word, fucked?”

The woman’s eyes went round, her mouth fell open, and she stomped away. A few minutes later, they were escorted from the shop by the owner.

Ice was irritated as hell. “Commander Storm, I thought I’d explicitly told that you were going to let me do the talking?”

“We were already in and blending well. It was a simple question, wasn’t it?”

Ice rubbed the bridge of his nose again. It was a simple question for a military man who wanted to get to the heart of the issue as fast as possible. Clearly it wasn’t that simple for a human woman stopped and questioned by a stranger.

“Next outing, I’ll have you stay in the ship,” said Ice. He quickly calculated which of his underlings he’d like to take with for the field operation.

Commander Storm looked offended. “Absolutely not. You cannot leave the ship without a military escort.”

“Fine. I’ll take your Second Mate.”

“I think not. Lieutenant Eagle has a hair-trigger temper.”

“And so do you.”

“I most definitely do not.”

“I beg your pardon, Commander, but I remember just a couple hours ago, you expressed a great intent to enslave this planet.”

“I fail to see the connection between you wanting no military escort.”

“Of course, you don’t.”

“Are you being sarcastic, Minister Silverkiller?”

Ice sighed inwardly. “Just heed me, I beg of you. Let me do the talking from now on.”

Storm lifted his palms up in surrender. “As you wish.”

Quickly accessing his BRI interface, Ice checked the map of the area. He hoped they could find another library or store filled with books that they wouldn’t be banished from this time.

He’d still rather go alone, but that was probably a little pride—pride he wasn’t supposed to feel—creeping in. The only thing that mattered was the mission, so he signaled Storm to follow and again went in search of the information they hoped could save Crimea.