From the files of General Grant Reimer
June 27, 1995
The ship made a soft and uneventful landing at 2:35 AM, directly in the middle of Fortification Hill Road, Arizona, approximately two miles east of the Hoover Dam. We were ready for it. The many astronomers who had seen it coming were told to say it was only a meteor. We sealed off the area for miles around to ward off any sightseers. We had it surrounded by armed men, though they had been ordered not to strike unless the beings inside displayed hostility.
I myself was present, and I will never forget the awe I felt when the being, the primary subject of this report, stepped out. It was about seven feet tall, towering over most of our heads. It was clad (or so we thought at the time) in a suit of white armour, and wore a mask with a curious lens on it. Though it carried a weapon in each hand, it showed no sign of wanting to use them on us. It surveyed us, turning its head from side to side.
Some cool dude fired a shot at it. The bullet dented its armour, but did not penetrate. The being was similarly unconcerned. It raised its left hand to the sky and fired the weapon it carried in it upwards. The resulting explosion was heard for many miles around, and it was only through all the resources we could muster that we kept the operation covert. We motioned for it to come with us, and the entire squadron held up their weapons in an attempt to force compliance. The being allowed this, and even surrendered its weapons to us, although we cannot imagine why.
We transported it back to base in the back of a van, like an animal. It had already displayed signs of sentience, so this decision was perhaps misplaced, and I regret ordering this. We gave it a prison cell to stay in, though it did not seem to mind terribly.
The next two months were spent deciphering the creature's language. It had a writing system, which it freely demonstrated for us. Coincidentally, it corresponded exactly with our alphabet, although it was largely phonetic in its language.
A major obstacle, however, was its antisocial nature. It never allowed us communication for more than an hour per day, which is part of the reason why the language took so long to decipher. Eventually it would refuse to speak, however much we pestered it. On one such occasion a particularly enthusiastic private slapped the creature across the mask. It calmly stretched out its hand and unleashed a jet of energy from it. When the jet subsided, the man's foot was locked to the floor by a jet of ice.
Some considered euthanizing the creature after that incident, but I had none of it. We apologized to it (our linguistic efforts had progressed that much at the time), and continued our efforts. The private was summarily discharged.
Once the code was sufficiently cracked, the creature revealed more information about itself. It was not an it, but a he, although it bore no anatomical signs as such. Yes, he came in peace. Yes, there were others of his race. No, they were not coming after him. He had four brothers and a sister, but his language did not have a word for "parent". When asked who his "creator" was, he said only "Artakha", never saying what this was.
When asked if he had a name, he wrote a sequence of characters that we deciphered to read: Kopaka.
That was the first session. In each, he told us a little more about himself.
He came from a place that he called Spherus Magna. When asked how long he had been travelling to arrive here, he answered "3400 years".
Of course, we believed that a year on his planet and a year on ours were probably not the same thing, but that was a long time however you slice it. From further conversation (all the while keeping to his hour limit), we learned that his years were in fact longer. As his ship travelled at slightly less than a hundreth of light-speed (a fact we were able to deduce from his descriptions of his people's measurement units), we realized that we knew his star system as Pollux, and his planet as Pollux b.
We brought him a telescope and showed them to him in the night sky, and at that moment I swear a faint smile crossed his face. It was the only time we saw that expression on him.
When asked if the journey had made him lonely, he answered simply "I prefer to be alone," something we had always known. But he also said that this "Artakha" could communicate with him even over this great distance, and kept him updated on the state of his world. When asked how this was accomplished, he answered with a string of words that we could not immediately decipher, but that we eventually found to mean "Telepathy. The speed of thought is very, very close to instantaneous."
He agreed to allow our medical staff to perform an exploratory surgery, though they did not wear surgical masks but welding masks. Cutting through his armour revealed muscle tissue—an exoskeletal life form made of metal? The taxonomists would have had a field day. We also found a respiratory system, and a digestive system, but nothing else. He had told us that beings on his world did not age, though we are not sure whether to believe this.
But all these things paled in the face of his stories.
This being, and his siblings, had fought in countless battles, defeated enemies that would have sent even the U.S. military scurrying. He was powerful, of course; he had demonstrated that with the ice incident. But he had overcome a shadow version of himself, enemies that could create infinite duplicates of themselves, and foes who could reach out a hand made of pure evil and absorb you into their substance.
There was a journalist, visiting the base on a month-long stay, who particularly enjoyed the stories, and put everything that the being said to paper. He was sworn to strict secrecy of course, but with the enthusiasm he had, you couldn't help but wonder if we could trust him. The two were on such good terms that, six months into the project, Kopaka refused to speak to anyone but him.
The question eventually came up of why he had left. The answer was succinct, as always.
"They invented space travel. They needed someone to try it. And fighting gets old after a while."
We were planning to release him and give him back his ship at the end of the journalist's stay, but instead he staged a breakout, and took the journalist with him. We don't know exactly what happened, since they picked a precise route through the base such that no cameras caught their escape, a route that would take x-ray vision to decipher. We do know it began with Kopaka freezing a hole in the wall of his cell, and that one guard who tried to stop them suffered severe frostbite to his arms and chest.
We wish Kopaka well, and can only hope that he is at peace in the life he has chosen.
We were originally worried about the journalist, but reports indicate he has chosen a harmless career as a writer for the Lego company. We have little fear of an exposé.