"Are you all right?" I ask Pyla, when there is nothing but silence from the other end. Had I already lost an operative on my first surveillance mission? And not just any operative... Pyla. Despite our history, I wish him no ill will. Oh, if only I had more equipment! A response comes before I can worry myself further.

"Oh, so now you care?"

Ugh. I had nothing to worry about. "I thought we said we'd keep this civil."

"Sure. I'm fine, if you must know. These aliens, however... there is something wrong with their faces."

I can feel his confusion, and my gills ruffle in unease. I wish I had visual surveillance of some sort, but sadly the only information available is whatever Pyla mentally transmits. The relay tube in my station can only do so much.

"What do you mean?" I ask. "They can't see you, can they? And stop calling them aliens, they're called humans."

"Oh no," Pyla deadpans. "Somehow, despite your constant, insistent nagging, I managed to forget my cloaking and now all of these aliens can see me. Because I am that foolish."

I close my eyes, praying for patience and not responding.

"No, they can't see me. Honestly? I kind of wish I couldn't see them. I've never seen so many of the creatures at once and they… they keep tearing their faces open."

"...what?"

"Their faces. I first thought this was some sort of medical area, because they all have the same odd looking injury on their faces, but… it can't be. That's highly improbable, and none of them appear distressed."

"But what do you mean they're 'tearing their faces open'?"

"I don't know, Potil!" Pyla snaps. "I've already told you! There's a hole where there shouldn't be, on all of their faces beneath their nasal organs! The holes keep getting bigger and smaller and changing shape and there are odd vibrations in the air. I had to close my gills because the stimulation was too much, and I can still feel the vibrations."

"Is… is it hurting you?"

"Funny how you're so concerned about my well-being, now, when you never seemed to before."

"Will you PLEASE-" I stop, calm myself, and try again. "This is a ground-breaking expedition that could possibly change the future of our interactions with Earth and other planets, so I would appreciate it if you would be gracious enough to temporarily set aside your snide comments and cooperate. You can guilt me for my past mistakes when the entire scientific community of our planet is not relying on our actions."

There is a long silence, long enough that I fear Pyla has gone back to the old habit of severing the neural hub because I'm saying something disagreeable. Then:

"Each face hole has... things in it." The words are stiff and halted. Anger simmers beneath them, but at least it's not a sarcastic comment. "Little white things that look like smooth white rocks, and a bigger squishy pink thing that looks really wet and moves around. Then the aliens take things from odd rectangular communal discs of some sort, and some take those things and put them in their face holes, and then the hole closes and moves around a bit. By the time it opens again, whatever was put in is gone."

"That's impossible," I say nervously, half expecting another snide remark in response. I glance at my transcription screen to make sure the relay tube is transmitting our conversation to the communal hub. I would hate to be unable to go over this with my team later. Maybe Pyla is mistaken. Alien species have different physical appearances, sure, but moving face holes? That's crazy talk.

"I'm staring at them," he responds. "Others of them take the objects on the communal discs and retreat to a seating area, but there they will still put the objects in their face holes." The relay tube crackles with mental static as Pyla vibrates with sudden excitement. As always, the anger quickly dissipates in the face of scientific curiosity. "What if they're… absorbing them?"

"Absorbing them? What do you mean?"

"I mean like the objects they're picking up is food."

"What?! What kind of creature doesn't absorb food through epidermal pores? Impossible, impossible. That's like saying that they don't communicate with a neural hub."

"Well..."

I stare at the relay tube, wishing Pyla could see my entirely unimpressed expression. I can't believe this. My gills undulate in slow, annoyed agreement. "Pyla. Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous. The vibrations from earlier could be some primitive form of communication! Based on what I've observed. One of them opens the odd face hole, the vibrations occur, and then another will make vibrations back. It's like they're using a neural hub, but with sound waves!"

"Alright. I think this you should probably come back to the ship. What you're saying is impossible. We can revisit this tomorrow after more of the visual surveillance equipment is ready for use. I'll begin corroborating the climate information the ship managed to collect-"

"No."

"No?"

"I refuse to quit right now. I'm going to take a closer look."

"But..."

"I'm done taking orders from you."

"I'm literally your superior-"

"There you go, citing rank once again! Why do youknow what's best? Like you said, this is a groundbreaking expedition, and we can not waste an entire day's supplies just because you refuse to believe in the possibility of physiology differing from yours. Ha. Doesn't that sound familiar?"

"Pyla, return at once! You're being foolish!"

"No, I think that's just what you want to think. What are you going to do? Intervene?"

That's it. I can't do anything. Pyla has to come back to the ship in order for me to safely reel in the line. I suppose I could just start to draw back the cable regardless, but that's dangerous to both Pyla and the ship's machinery. I know this. I know this, and yet, I stare at the button that will command the ship to begin drawing back the line.

"You've never had the spine to intervene," Pyla hisses, "which is why our child is dead."

I press the button.

"Wh- Did you just- Stop this!"

I say nothing.

"Potil! I know you can hear me! Stop this! You made the cloaking malfunction, they can see me!" The anger has bled from Pyla's tone, and terror has taken its place. A scream resounds through the neural hub, dissolving into sobs. "I blame you for this!"

"You always blame me," I respond quietly, tiredly.

Seconds later, death's shrill rings over the relay tube. My gills shiver in discomfort, but at least we don't have video surveillance to show me what's happening. When the line is finally reeled in all the way, Pyla is not on the end of it.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.