That question if there was fiction about alien encounters made Neil draw a blank. How in the world should she answer that? There were probably millions of different pieces of media. And they were all over the place with their themes, genres and alien depictions. Humans had collectively imagined all kinds of encounters with extraterrestrials, some she very much refused to even think about. Nevertheless, it was such a highly enjoyed topic, there were even alien stories made especially for children. Though it was probably best not to go in depth about all of this.

“This is a fascinating topic for us. So yes, there are a number of fictional works about encounters with sapients other than humans.”

“I wish to be provided examples of those stories, as well as other stories for adults.”

“Sure, just-”, Neil waved her hands, “There are so many. I also don’t think it would be a good idea to just hand you the compiled works of all humans if you have never experienced fictional stories before. Would it be okay if I put together a limited selection?”

To Sam’s surprise, Nyar did the nodding thing again as the translator spoke: “This is acceptable, I trust your selection process.”

This wasn’t something Neil had prepared for. Of course there was a collection of representative human art that she was allowed to gift, but she was fairly sure that sci-fi works about first alien encounters were little to none among those.

“I am assuming that your species does not have a similar tradition of creating and sharing fictional stories. But-”, she walked to the other side of the chair, where the waist-high cube stood that Nyar had created shortly before Neil had nearly scared her off by sharing the human population count, “You have other forms of art, right? Like this cube, it’s a wonderful sculpture. For a human it would be a sign of great skill and artistry to create such a precise geometric shape by hand.”

Nyars gaze had turned from her to the cube and then back again.

“It is a hollow shape without use and it is not difficult to make since there is no internal structure and function. And I have understood art to mean objects you have built by hand, but you have already explained that machines have taken the task of building.”

“Oh. Well, art means more than that. But basically something is art, when it is pleasing to one or more human senses, causes an emotional reaction and is entertaining in some way. It doesn’t need to be useful. Most art actually isn’t. So for me, the sculpture you have created fits that definition.”

A long moment went by, before the translator spoke up again: “Are your fictional stories art?”

---

The feeling of enthusiastic agreement arrived before Sam’s positive reply. She began explaining that stories were one form of art among many and that humans had created art since their earliest history.

Something pleasing to the senses, Nyar could understand that humans would emphasize this when they built devices and machines because her species did the same. But building something without any use and just for that purpose did not make sense. Why waste the time or the resources?

She sent the words to the translator: “I would like to see how you create such a sculpture as I was under the impression that you could not create objects as my species can.”

But Sam explained that such sculptures were made from metal, stone or organic substances that then were either assembled or reshaped into the desired form. She also apologetically pointed out that even if she would have brought the necessary materials, she would be unable to create something meaningful due to lacking the artistic skill. While she was talking, an excited eagerness was growing in her. It culminated in Sam telling Nyar that she would bring yet more objects to show off, before she abruptly turned and hurried back to her spaceship.

While she was gone, Nyar turned to look at the cube she had made. It was absolutely unremarkable and she could not see how Sam had anything positive to say about it. In stark contrast, the flat metal piece she had brought as a gift and left lying on the chair was actually impressive. It had an extremely narrow deviation in its measurements - especially in the depth and thickness of the linework - and also stored information.

These machines that the humans had must be fascinating. Nyar pondered the idea to ask for a demonstration of that weaving machine, because that at least would be close by. Though she could not finish the thought, as Sam was already returning.

In her hands she carried two items that would probably be examples of art, but they were markedly different from each other. One was a thin rectangular object of possibly organic material, and close in length and width to the width of Sam’s torso. The other item was a roughly cone-shaped piece of coloured stone.

The purpose of the former was made obvious when Sam set it down onto the chair and revealed it to have a depiction of part of a human on the flip side. Well, it was probably a human. The colour and measurements were all different from Sam.

Before Nyar could pose a question, Sam had begun talking about the object she still held in her hands. She explained that, analogous to the cube, it was a hollow shape and hand made.

Nyar could not let her finish speaking, this was beyond belief. This hollow stone was very close to being perfectly symmetrical - something that was notoriously difficult to accomplish. At this point she had conceded that the humans could not build anything themselves and now Sam presented this remarkable object.

She quickly put together the question: “How did you build it?”

---

The words just exploded out of Neil: “The basic material is clay and the stuff made from it is called pottery. A human that creates pottery is called a potter and they make a vase by putting a lump of clay onto a spinning wheel. This is then carefully shaped by the potter with their wet hands into a desired form. To turn it into pottery, the clay then needs to be hardened, which is done by burning it in an oven at red hot temperatures. Beforehand the unburnt pottery is usually covered in a solution of metallic compounds that bind to the clay during the burning and form a protective layer that waterproofs and colours the finished pottery.”

And just to signal that she indeed had explained it too fast and also badly, Nyar stared in silence for nearly a minute, before the translator simply asked: “You built this by revolving and heating dirt?”

This in turn made her pause for a moment while she unconsciously slowly lowered the vase she had been holding up with both hands.

“It wasn’t me that made it, someone else did. And it’s a special type of dirt with a certain makeup - but yeah, I guess that’s basically what happened.”

“What purpose does it serve.”

“It’s a vase for-”, she began before noticing embarrassingly that Nyar’s species might have never had a use for such things, “So there is a human tradition of collecting certain plants, usually colourful ones, and presenting them to other humans as a gift. Since those are cut off from their roots or plucked from the earth, these vases are filled with water to nourish them when they are then stuck in through the top. The narrow opening would also support the plants while standing up, and the large cavity weights down the vase with water so it could not easily tip over.”

“If I understand correctly, the act of gifting a plant is purely a social one without any deeper function. And around this inessential act you have created the additional layer of utilizing a specially-made container to prolong the limited lifespan of those gifted plants. I do not see this as a good reason for humans to have invented and refined a complete manufacturing process.”

That did sound a bit critical. On one hand, it was true that vases did not have a purpose besides looking nice and holding plants - with the latter not having much purpose in and of itself. But Nyar seemed to be under the impression that pottery was only vases.

“In the distant past of mankind, pottery was the first process we found of building durable objects from the ground up. The first products were food storage containers, but the clay could be hardened into all kinds of shapes - like cups and dishware. Vases are just one type of pottery and I think they are based on vials, which were used to store drinking water and other liquids.”

“Then the vial seems to be a more important construct as it has the purpose of holding nourishment even if the vase has a magnificent shape. Do you have vials for water storage on your ship that were made by hand as well?”

Neil shook her head and used a free hand to gesture while explaining: “Most pottery was replaced by more durable glass, metal and later hydrocarbon polymer products. Actual stoneware is hardly used any more. So no, I did not bring any vials in my ship, as we have far superior ways to store liquids now - which also do not include any hand-made parts.”

Nyar seemed to go through another thought process, as her large frame shifted silently. But the translator remained entirely silent.

“Do you want me to tell you about the other piece of art I brought? It is the replica of a famous painting”, Neil carefully suggested while pointing over to the chair.

“I have already noticed the depiction to be of a human head based on the similarities to your physique and the pictures on the knowledge cache plaque. Though the surface texture is irregular and I presume that you created this depiction by thinly applying a coloured material of high viscosity onto a flat surface that then bonded into a layer which broke up again in the drying process.”

Her fingers drummed against the vase and Neil blurted out: “How well can you-”

“Why did you create it that way?”, the translator’s voice interrupted her question.

“I … did not”, she replied drawn out before pulling herself together and asking, “Nyar, how well can you see? Can you actually discern the surface structure of the painting from where you are?”

Just for herself, Neil let her eyes pace the distance between the chair and the transparent barrier, which were probably slightly more than three full steps. Nyar’s large black eyes were another two steps further she guessed.

“Yes.”

Finally she set the vase down and used her freed hands to dig into the hair on the back of her head. It did get a bit frustrating again. Though Neil could not quite tell if it was the topic, Nyars misunderstandings, or the mental fatigue that slowly crept up the back of her head.

Before launching her explanation, she sat back down into the chair while moving the plaque to the side and setting the picture against the cube, facing Nyar.

“This is a replica of a painting called girl with a pearl earring. Or actually, it’s a sprayed replica - that’s what we call a reproduction of a painting done by matter printers, but in full structural detail. They say that this method captures the essence of the brushstrokes. Judging from your thoughts on it, I am inclined to agree.

“This replica was even printed onto real canvas and then fitted with a wooden frame so it would look as close as possible to the original - which is still hung up in some museum on Earth I would assume. Alongside it are thousands of other paintings. Some are of people, some are of distinct scenes of historically significant events and some are of mundane everyday moments and items. They are all held important to humans because they are tiny pieces of our past.”

---

An elaborate and impressively manufactured copy of an object that apparently had the singular use of displaying the likeness of a human woman from the past. Nyar could imagine why that original painting had been made - if humans did not have the ability to perfectly recall memories, and with that the appearance of other humans, this would be a way to preserve the image of one that had died.

Though it seemed such a limited way of doing it. Why not just build a human form and then paint that? They even had that clay material which could apparently be shaped by hand easily and then hardened. Why would they introduce that layer of abstraction and then re-create the looks of a human into a two-dimensional pane, leaving out so many details?

She did not see how she would even begin translating Sam’s appearance into two dimensions, even if she did know exactly what she looked like and could easily create a shape that would copy her perfectly. She could probably create an outline shape similar to the human depictions on the plaque, but then fill it in with the necessary details to create a resemblance of her without any depth? Nyar’s mind tumbled over her tries to conjure up the image.

She got hung up on the painting process as well. Smearing some coloured suspension onto any material in a deliberately accurate and precise manner had to be near impossible. The surface structure did tell her, that instead of their own fingers, it had to have been some sort of multi-pronged application device its creator had used. Was that the key to achieve precision? But even then, compared to the complex structure and softly changing colour gradient of Sam’s skin, the human on this painting was near featureless.

Did the creator of the painting just omit all the details they had been unable to project onto the painting? Were these re-creations similarly flawed in accuracy as were the verbal retellings from the past Sam had talked about? Did the woman on the painting actually look vastly different and the painting was a mere retelling based on her real image?

Nyar tried to focus on a single detail of Sam’s face, trying to follow a similar process. She concentrated on reducing her eyes into just their overall shape and colours. It was not the first time she had taken a good look at them and again she marveled at the complexity of the human’s optical sensory organs.

She quickly pulled her focus back and began again to reduce the visual details of the eyes, lowering the apparent accuracy requirements necessary to paint them. She failed to create a mental image that would be possible to be put into painting along the same process, but still held the appearance of Sam’s eyes. So Nyar went through another iteration. And another. And then a couple more, these times leaving behind any attempts to stay analogous to the painting. Time and time again she frustratingly could not repeat for that single facial detail what the creator of the painting had done for a complete head - to squeeze the human shape into the limits of two dimensions, and that was even if she did allow herself to ignore the restrictions of the creation process.

Her body, now hot from the mental strain, sent shivers up her back in an expression of oncoming exhaustion. It was a long time ago that she had done a similarly tedious exercise and this had now taken a far larger amount of energy and a heavier toll on her than she had anticipated.

Still, she could not quite let it go. Looking at just the eye in the painting, how did it succeed to capture the essential look while lacking so much else? She clearly recognized the human face and, independently, the eyes as well - even if they were different from Sam’s. But Nyar could not mentally find the point at which just enough complexity and depth was removed to create a two-dimensional picture of even just an eye that would still remain resembling the original.

How could she translate and still keep the look of that utterly lightless black expanse behind the lense of the pupil? The morphology of the coloured ring around that lense that so much resembled the remnant of an exploded star? The added depth from the clear cupola above the center of the eye that was only discernible through the gleam of reflected light?

She would want to reproduce the brilliance of the white multi-layered surface of the eyeball, where thin red lines forked towards the center of the eye in increasing fineness until they were invisible. And she would keep the look of the gloss given by the thin but unbroken liquid film, which allowed her to see her own reflection captured in Sam’s eye.

Only now, while slowly coming down from the thought exercise, she noticed that Sam had been calling out to her with increasing emotions of worry and a tint of panic. Embarrassingly, Nyar had been unresponsive for several minutes, so she quickly formed an appropriate apology and sent it to the translator.

“I apologize for my inattentiveness and for not reacting to your words. Everything is in order and I am perfectly fine, I was merely caught up in my thoughts as I have attempted to fully comprehend the abstraction process necessary to create a painting and gave it my complete attention. To my dismay, I failed to copy this process.”

A bout of confusion came from Sam while she asked if Nyar had just made an attempt to create a painting without her noticing.

“Yes, I have done a mental virtualization of creating a painting of your eyes in a manufacturing process analogous to the one used to create this painting. I would prefer to change the topic away from this form of human art as I strongly desire further analysis, though currently do not want to apply more mental energy to it.”

Quick flashes of several different emotions were barely noticeable before Sam came to rest in a forced neutral state. She then explained that there were many more forms of art and that she had selected these two objects to bring over as she had assumed they would be the easiest ones to understand for Nyar. She added an apology to her false assumption before offering to talk about music, which was an art form that was as heavily ingrained in human history and traditions as storytelling, while being similar to it.

Before waiting for more information, Nyar blurted out the question: “There are no new objects for you to show me?”

The reply, shaded by the joy of an epiphany, was negative. Sam stated that a human voice would suffice for a demonstration, which she offered to give. At the same time she apologized in advance that the only music she could recreate would not be well representative of the art form as a whole.

Nyar’s body had not come back to a calm state quite yet, but this seemed to be a less taxing topic. She did already figure out how the humans shared information via their voice through language, which had a logical structure and perceivable patterns. She deduced that this had to be something similar, if not entirely the same.

“Please proceed with a demonstration of music”, she sent to the translator. Though she was in no way prepared to handle what followed.

There was a sudden peak in emotions radiating from Sam, which were very similar and as overwhelming as they had been back when she had mentioned the word mother for the first time. It nearly drowned out anything else Nyar could think about and made her mirror the feelings compulsively.

A pleasant warmth had now taken hold of her and she felt deep admiration and cherish for an individual she knew nothing about besides these feelings Sam had towards them. Along that came shades of subtle positive sentiments that told of the importance of this relationship she was clearly associating with the words she was speaking. There also was such a strong desire for protection and care that it put Nyar in a state where she was torn between what her body actually told her and the easily believable imagination that she carried a dependent offspring which made her feel these emotions.

The rest of her concentration went towards listening to the words, of which she could not recognize most. Sam was speaking in a pattern that also was vastly different from how she had spoken before. Alongside this new speech pattern, she varied her voice in tone to accurately create and re-create frequency successions that had a discernible mathematical regularity behind them.

Just using her voice, Sam created a harmonious flow of speech that, together with her powerful emotions, utterly enthralled Nyar for the length of the demonstration and still left her slightly dazed after.

---

“What. Was. That?”

The translator hadn’t spoken in the fluid booming voice, instead it had just sounded more like the old device that Nyar had used before. Coupled with this second long pause, it made Neil slightly worried again. Maybe she did something wrong?

Hesitantly, she explained: “That was a song called arrorró mi niño. It’s a lullaby - a type of music designed to soothe children. It’s not that well-known and it’s very old, but it’s the only thing I’ve been practicing.”

“Is this how you communicate emotion to your offspring?”

The voice did sound normal again, but Sam was still perplexed by the question itself. She sat back down while thinking about an answer.

“In some way, sure. I mean, a lullaby is usually made up of pleasant sounding words and it’s meant to be sung slowly so it would instill calm and peace. At least for my nephew it always works.”

As she leaned back in the chair and put her hands behind her head, she added: “I think lullabies in general are one of the oldest forms of music. Calming children down had to have been necessary since humans first existed.”

“My species has a similar mechanism to instigate a calmed state with harmonious sounds that may as well be utilized on dependent offspring. The specific composition of the sounds is unique to individuals as it cannot be copied precisely. I am unsure if I am able to properly demonstrate this ability to you but I would nonetheless offer to try.”

This had taken an unexpected turn - did Nyar’s species actually sing too? Of course it would be different from a proper song as they had no actual language, but humming and whistling was also music, wasn’t it?

“I’d very much like to hear that. Please, show me your version of a lullaby.”

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then a soft but deep hum began emanating from an indiscernible location. It had a slowly evolving tone and was remarkably difficult to focus on, so Neil closed her eyes and strained her ears. Deeper and higher notes slowly joined in, carrying their own seemingly random pattern that went along in harmony to the previous ones. After a while they had become numerous enough to turn into a complex acoustic sensation. Still, the whole ensemble remained very deep in tone, right around the lower edge of her hearing.

For some time she listened to the piece, admiring the tonal patterns that she would definitely label as music, even if it seemed to be a very slow piece. She was expecting the demonstration to be over any moment, but quickly closed her eyes again as soft pings around the middle range joined the deep hums. These added perfectly to the subtle high points of the underlying random harmony, giving her mind and ears a slow and steady rhythm to focus on.

The beautifully clear high tones adding soft bright streaks into the melody was the last thing Neil remembered before she fell asleep.