March 13th, 2024. A third spacecraft crashed in the Arctic; our team, task force 119, dispatched early this morning to start examinations. We monitored from a couple hundred meters out, and no life appeared to be present. Before approaching, our team stepped into contamination suits in case of foreign disease or radiation. This precaution was of unknown necessity. The craft was 5 stories tall and stretched half the length of a football field, taking the shape of a cliche flying saucer. A year ago, I ascribed to the Fermi paradox, and charged ufologists with the crime of conspiratorial thinking of the highest order. Everything changed that day. I spent the walk contemplating the crafts implications for the world, more afraid than excited, and filled with unparalleled existentialism.

These crafts started crashing at high latitudes two weeks prior, and the Canadian military sent out teams of physicists and special forces to analyze the debris. Having just battled back the second pandemic in 5 years, the world was on a knifes edge. And scarier than any spacecraft, mass hysteria loomed before us as fear consumed the minds of all. Dark days surely lied ahead.

As we walked toward the structure, it appeared to retain its form better than the previous two crash sites, which exploded on impact. This craft sat relatively unscathed. How peculiar. ‘Was it materially stronger than the others?’ I thought ‘or, worse, was it guided down like a crash landing?’ My sense of the craft being devoid of life dwindled: my sense morphed into an internal plea.

Finally, we arrived. There was a break in the craft toward the rear that made for an obvious way in, other than that no doors or ports appeared to be present. Before we, the scientists, could begin examining, the special forces team stalked around the craft methodically poking the barrels of their rifles around blind corners. The outside was clear. Now…the inside.

Moments like these made me glad to have chosen the career of a scientist over that of a soldier, and thankful people with such character existed to take my place; for my heart nearly beat out of my chest watching them prepare for the break in. Like the well trained soldiers they were, they climbed up into the opening and began the search. The silence that followed knotted my stomach like that before a roller coaster drop. And then the radio on my chest crackled: all was clear. Before starting the full investigation, the scientists strolled around the interior with the utmost curiosity. There was no signs of life, none. The walls were smooth and the ship was void of any chairs, tables, or gadgetry of any kind.

“The secrets of the ship must lie within the materials itself, that or it’s well beyond the mental capacity of our species.” Stated one of the scientists with an air of uncertainty. Though no one admitted it, we were all clueless. Our only option was to excavate the walls and floors of the ship itself, and hope it revealed a hitherto unknown scientific property. We started with the already broken off pieces and strapped the unique ones onto our snow mobiles.

Later, on our last stroll inside before half the team headed out to begin testing, and half remained behind to guard, one of the soldiers by pure luck pressed into a section of the wall that clicked inward, and the ship began to rumble. The air became tense and our mics became quiet. Were there aliens in here after all? A latch opened to a room we had yet seen. Figures drew shadows onto the floor. And the dark days of yore gave way to the shapes that lie on the inside.