Simmons tapped the end of his stylus against the console’s surface absentmindedly whilst he waited for the most recent wave of data to compile from Spartan‘s overworked sensor palettes. On a wall screen across the small lab, a 2D rendering of the mystery warp-capable arboretum rolled in lazy circles, its hexagonal-patterned dome lending it an odd air of a beehive.

“Computer, remind me to suggest anti-toxins for giant bees to Doctor Reid,” he announced as he tapped his combadge. He pursed his lips with frustration. They’d been running sensor sweeps for the better part of an hour, and the insights they had achieved amounted to: A, the ship sheltered a forest, which was seemingly flourishing; B, there was some sort of massive energy flooding the place with anti-ions; and C, there may be giant bees.

“Why would someone need to make a space forest?” Simmons mumbled, chewing the corner of his lip as he considered the lonely ship. “And why cover it with a field of sensor scrambling energy field?”

“Why indeed.” Hey’xet popped up over Simmons’s shoulder. The loose fabric of their uniform rippled as they glided back and forth behind Simmons, inspecting the console readouts. “To properly speculate, we would first have to consider whether or not the generation of anions is intentional, or merely a byproduct of an unrelated function.”

Suddenly, Hey’xet retreated from the console and shifted their gaze to Simmons instead, as if factoring the science officer into a new equation. “And if it is intentional, what is the intent? Is it meant to scramble our sensors? Is it meant for something else? Would an anion such as a nitrate benefit these plants?”

“Nitrates are a vital part of healthy plant growth, assuming they use some sort of chlorophyll-type photosynthesis,” Simmons tapped the console, summoning a handful of pictures to the wall monitor showcasing an ocean of plant life that spread out beyond the transparent windows of the geodesic dome. A swollen mess of verdant treetops in various stages of decay still masked much of the undergrowth, but it was clear to even the layman that the space forest wasn’t thriving. “I think it’s fair to assume it is not, most likely through a lack of nutrition.”

Simmons chewed the end of his stylus as he considered the images once more. The treetop canopy extended into the distance towards the barely visible edge on the far side of the alien ship, the patchwork colours of at least a dozen different species of trees giving a shifting and waving to and fro in hypnotic waves. Tall silver coniferous trunks peaked out above the surface like lonely rotten posts on the shoreside, forgotten and abandoned pillars of timber, long bereft of purpose.

“Do they seem particularly ordered to you?” Simmons asked, tapping out a series of hastily drawn lines on the screen via his console.

Hey’xet bobbed their head in an exaggerated affirmative. “Planted that way by whomever created the dome for some purpose? I am not particularly well-versed in the intricacies of humanoid agriculture.”

They watched Simmons bring forth a scribbled pattern on the screen, but the lines provided no clarity to Hey’xet. Their mind drifted, and suddenly a different type of inspiration struck. “If we were to fire a series of neutrino pulses at the dome, it might disrupt the anionic field long enough to get some more useful readings.”

“That’s not a bad idea, let me simulate it.” Simmons leant forward and entered a sequence of instructions onto the nearby console, sending the small station whirring. “We’ll need to give it a minute to process.”

Simmons tapped the side of the desk with an impatient rhythm, the dull thud of his finger against the smooth surface matching the quiet gurgling of Hey’xet’s exosuit.

“What is the flora like on your home planet? I never much went for aquatic botany.” He asked with a small note of nervousness. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course?”

Hey’xet’s tentacles shimmered in an iridescent shade of surprise. “I do not mind at all. Rarely do people’s inquiries about Xelata reflect a curiosity about our plant life.”

They tilted their faceplate upwards, as if lost in a reverie. “In the warm, shallow seas of the equator, we have vast reefs of red algae that grow thick on rocky carbonate hills. Further north and south, great seagrass meadows grow near the coast and mark the edge of civilisation. These are haunted places that symbolise transition, death, and the unknown, and they are all the more beautiful for it.

“The cold waters of the higher latitudes support only mosses, but in such a variety of species that some Xelatians spend their entire lives studying them. As one moves into less frigid waters, massive swaths of kelp forest wilderness begin to emerge.

“I may be biased, but I think the most beautiful of all greenery can be found in my hometown. Ferns of every type and size, some quite delicate and others solid as shell. The more rigid ones reach many meters high, but even they are dwarfed by the cress algae. Their fronds grow dozens of meters up from the seabed, and culminate in a round blade that can grow as big across as the Spartan itself.”

Hey’xet inclined their faceplate back towards Simmons. “Is that an adequate overview?”

Simmons glanced up from the console to find his cherubic face staring back from the mottled metallic surface that enclosed the fragile cephalopod body of Hey’xet. For a moment, he could see the massive fronds of their homeworld, twisting back and forth in an ocean more blue than any sky. Tentacled shapes darted back and forth across its edge, chasing one another in the dappled sun that reached through the thick sapphire water before racing away into the endless depths.

It was glorious.

“Will you show me them?” He whispered, lost in the reverie of the engineer’s eloquent description delivered through the humming buzz of their electronic vocoder. “I would very much like that.”

“I would be delighted to,” said Hey’xet, in a vocal output quieted to match.

A sharp chirrup announced itself from the console, rudely interrupting the moment of wonder and casting the imaginary cress algae back into the oceanic depths of Simmons’ subconscious.

“The simulation is complete,” Simmons announced, clearing his throat awkwardly in response to the cruel snap back to reality. “It looks like a neutrino pulse would cut through a chunk of the interference, at least enough to give us a steady link to an away team.”

Simmons looked back to Hey’xet, his cheeks taking a scarlet tint of embarrassment to find them still looking in his direction, head tilted quizzically.

“Someone should probably inform the Captain,” he mumbled, rushing to his feet with all the grace of a newborn foal.

“Wait,” said Hey’xet, whose skin flashed pearlescent with imperative. They pulled a bracelet-sized ring of braided seagrass from the folds of their uniform. It was ply-split in two shades of deep green, creating a jagged circle of V-shaped wedges.

“You should keep this until you are able to see Xelata in person. You may consider it a…” Black and white stippling rushed over their tentacles as they hovered over the abyss of nuances lost in constant, arduous translation.

“A token of my commitment to take you there,” they finished at last.

Simmons bumbled, stumbling over his words as the scarlet continued to rise above his cheeks and threatened to boil over through his rising eyebrows.

“I’ve got to go tell the Captain…” he finally managed, clutching the delicate ring of seagrass between his calloused fingertips reverently. With a nod and growing smile, he dashed out of the lab, his steps bouncing with new daydreams. Hey’xet’s long cephalopod body, flashing with rainbow colours, is finally free of the confines of their pressure suit, leading him deeper amongst the great frondy forests of their homeworld.