The sky is already occupied.
NIX’s arrival does not begin with a speech to the people of Earth. It begins with a collision. One of Musk’s satellites strikes her constitution pod in orbit, interrupting an extraterrestrial journey with an unmistakably terrestrial piece of infrastructure.
The pod falls into the sea. NIX survives, her suit intact. Beneath her, the vessel that brought her here starts to come apart. It needs light to remain assembled; down on the seabed, there is not enough. The wreck does not wait politely to be discovered.
The light belongs to the pod’s problem. NIX herself does not need to recharge. She has a much more immediate question to solve: how to arrive among people who have no idea what has just arrived among them.
Two seconds above the surface.
First, just her head breaks the water. Platinum hair lies wet against her face. She looks around for two seconds. There is no grand gesture, no demand, no attempt to announce herself to a planet.
Then she starts toward shore. The glossy black suit might pass for a wetsuit. A swimmer coming out of the ocean is something humans understand. That is a useful place to begin.
The disguise has limits. The heels are a particularly questionable choice for soft sand. NIX may be indestructible, but fitting into ordinary life still requires a little practice.
An entrance without paperwork.
She reaches Earth without permission, documentation or an appointment. The phrase “illegal alien” suddenly acquires a literal subject. It is the beginning of an absurd encounter between a visitor who cannot be compelled and a world accustomed to deciding who gets to pass.
She would prefer to get on with things. Earth, as she is about to discover, has procedures.
