“I'm sorry, they want what?” The president demanded. She looked at the NASA administrator like he was mad. “They came all this way for… for…?”
The administrator nodded, and repeated, “Two hundred thousand liters of liquid hydrogen, some rare minerals, and a whole list of other things. They are in possession of five hundred tons of gold, two hundred tons of helium, and one hundred tons of lithium.”
The president turned to look at the monitors. She could see the tall jet black ship stood on the Cape Canaveral landing pad. It had four little side boosters from which landing legs extended. It looked like a castle just planted itself at the Cape Canaveral Space Force Station. Well a tiny tower compared to the Vehicle Assembly Building. The president's eyes went to a wide shot from CNN, showing the machine in the distance. A pair of F-22s circled the landing zone. There were two pads connected by a road, meant for tail sitting spacecraft returning from orbit. A third monitor showed tracking data from the Space Surveillance Network. A large object hung in low orbit. On the Mission Control world map nearby, it's orbit put it in a wavy line, that crossed over KSC.
The president looked at the assembled staff; generals, advisors, and analysts. All were nervous as she turned her gaze back to the administrator. “So… they came all this way just to trade.”
“Uh, no, madam president. We don't think. From what we can tell there's some damage on their ship. They might have had a fuel leak. That, coupled with the metals they're asking for, and the chemicals, we think they took some damage and dropped off in the wrong side of town. Our gravity detector did see their… what we can only assume is some sort of Einstein-Rosen Bridge, that put them here. Odds are, we think, they wouldn't normally stop here.” The administrator rubbed the back of his head.
The chair of the joint chiefs sat back in her seat. “I'm not sure we should buy it, madam president,” She said. “Mr Nelson, surely you–”
“Neither am I,” The president frowned. “Mr Nelson, Mike, please. They just happened to come here? I don't know much about space but surely there's easier ways of getting resources than to come here.”
“Yes, madam president, we were just getting to that. They already got some asteroids at the belt, easy resources, but then they came here to Earth.” Mike looked over his documents. “It's possible they need goods that they don't have the equipment to mine for. They might not have the right gear to purify a ton of water for instance.”
Beside him, an older man in air force uniform, cleared his throat. General Robinson. “Their trade goods, ah, we think they're trade goods, are all things we'd find valuable.” He pointed at the closer view of the alien ship. One could just make out several pallets set at the road intersection from the landing pads.
“The US only mined two hundred tons of gold last year, and we need helium and lithium. They put billions of dollars worth of supplies on the launch pad and we think they're waiting for our response.” The secretary of commerce said.
The president frowned. “Conners?”
The general, the chair of the joint chiefs, sighed. “So far they haven't done anything hostile. They chewed up a couple asteroids, and then came here. Our raptors have them covered but who knows what technology they might have. Yet they haven't so much as blinked at them. If they have anything like radar, that is.”
The president looked at Mike. “So… these aliens showed up because they had a breakdown. They came here, asked for a ton of resources…”
“Ah, it's not that much, actually,” Robinson said, “We can easily provide the hydrogen they want. The tanks at Launch Pad 39 have five million liters.”
“Its the world's largest container of liquid hydrogen,” Mike said helpfully, “Its meant to fill up the SLS rockets. They want a bit more than a 747 needs.”
“So they want a few measly resources,” Conners said, leaning forward, “Is this like that stuff about the Indians giving away Manhattan for beads?”
“We trade things for weird green squares, don't we?” Roninson asked.
“Plus that's a racist myth, and perpetuates the idea that all the native people traded their land away.” Mike said. “Madam president, I've heard theories that some of the ‘trading’ was the equivalent of hunting licenses that European settlers misinterpreted.” He scratched his head, “This seems more like an ancient Greek form of trading. There was one group that used to come up, put trade goods out, then hide and wait foe the other guys to get them. Then the other guys would leave behind anything they thought of value until they all agreed.”
The president raised an eyebrow. “Wait… so they might really be trading?”
“As far as our experts can determine… yes, they're asking for fuel and stuff to fix their ship, in exchange for currency.”
“So… they came here to get gas?”
Conners rubbed her face. “Really? Then why come to Cape Canaveral?”
“It's the biggest spaceport in the world,” Robinson said. “To a spacefaring society, what would be the most valuable real estate on a planet?”
Mike nodded, “Right! Think about it!”
“Uh… the Great Plains?” One of the cabinet members asked, “You know, for food.”
“Silicon valley?” suggested another.
“Anywhere with a lot of resources,” The president suggested.
Mike shook his head, “No. Unless they were coming here with a lot of resources– and I only see one ship– they are coming here without much stuff. They're not settlers, or an army, they're traders. The most valuable place to land is one with the facilities and infrastructure to support them.”
Conner's eyes widened, “Oh… Canaveral.”
“Biggest space center in the world, fresh runways and launch pads, fuel, tracking facilities…” Robinson nodded.
“Exactly!” Mike exclaimed.
The president grimaced. “So… did we just make first contact by being a truck stop?”
The room was dead quiet.
“That still doesn't explain why they don't mine it in space!” Conner exclaimed.
Robinson thought for a moment. “They did, they already grabbed some asteroids. Then they came to trade with us. They came to us first. So why…” His eyes widened, and he chuckled. “They did mine it. And they're paying for it. They paid for the fuel and parts!”
Mike nodded, “Hey… ueah, that makes sense!” He looked at the president. “You wouldn't just go in and steal some gas from someone's car if yours broke down, would you?”
“No…”
“They didn't want to mine it because they consider the solar system ours! So they came here to pay for it!”
The president pursed her lips. “So, we're not a truck stop. We're a service area? They came here because they're afraid of being perceived as shoplifting?”
“Well, if they're so concerned about being rude, maybe we need to be good hosts…” Robinson mused.
"Hey, we give great service!" Mike said.