The Algorithm for Making Friends

Captain Eliza Harrison had been alone on Outpost Sigma-9 for exactly 437 days when the alarm sounded. Not the shrill, panic-inducing wail of a hull breach, but the gentle chime indicating an approaching vessel.

"Computer, identify incoming craft," she called, abandoning her half-eaten protein cube.

"Unable to identify. Vessel configuration unknown. Estimated arrival: seventeen minutes."

Eliza frowned. Out here, beyond the Kuiper Belt, visitors were rarer than rainfall on Mars. Her three-year survey mission had seen precisely zero human contact, and she'd grown to prefer it that way.

"Threat assessment?" she asked, already moving toward the weapons locker.

"Insufficient data," the computer replied with infuriating calm. "However, vessel trajectory suggests deliberate approach, not accidental encounter."

Sixteen minutes later, Eliza stood in the airlock chamber, pulse rifle magnetically attached to her back, watching through the reinforced viewport as the strangest ship she'd ever seen docked with surprising grace. It resembled nothing so much as a massive, metallic hermit crab shell, iridescent patterns shifting across its surface.

The airlock cycled. Eliza's grip tightened on her sidearm.

The inner door slid open to reveal... a floating orb. About the size of an old Earth basketball, it hovered at eye level, its burnished surface reflecting Eliza's startled expression.

"Hello," it said in perfect English, though no visible speaker could be detected. "I am T'Prill. I apologize for the intrusion, but my ship's long-range scanners indicated you might have... coffee?"

Eliza blinked. "Coffee?"

The orb bobbed in what might have been a nod. "I have traveled approximately 14.3 light-years following degraded radio transmissions about this substance. My species is particularly interested in beverages that alter consciousness. For research purposes."

Against her better judgment, Eliza found herself laughing. "You crossed interstellar space... for caffeine?"

"Is that unusual? Your own species once established global trade networks for similar substances."

She couldn't argue with that logic.

Twenty minutes later, they sat (well, Eliza sat; T'Prill hovered) in the outpost's cramped galley. The alien orb had somehow produced a small appendage perfect for holding the standard-issue mug Eliza had filled with her precious hand-ground coffee.

"This is... remarkable," T'Prill hummed after the first sip, its surface rippling with what Eliza assumed was pleasure. "I have prepared a trade. Would you be interested in an algorithm?"

"An algorithm?"

"Yes. My scans indicate you have been in isolation for 437 local days. I have an exceptional algorithm for friend-making that has proven 82.6% effective across seventeen sentient species."

Eliza snorted. "I didn't exactly come to the edge of the solar system to make friends."

T'Prill's surface dimmed slightly. "Neither did I. And yet, here we are, sharing a consciousness-altering beverage."

The alien wasn't wrong. This was the longest conversation she'd had in over a year.

"What would this algorithm entail?" she found herself asking.

"First step: offer coffee to unexpected visitors. You have already begun implementing it, Captain Harrison."

Eliza smiled despite herself. "And the second step?"

"Plan regular meetings for additional coffee consumption and exchange of data packets humans call 'stories.'" The orb brightened. "I have 10,942 stories from worlds you have never heard of. Would you like one about the methane singers of Proxima Centauri?"

By the time T'Prill departed three days later, Eliza had traded two kilos of coffee beans for the complete friend-making algorithm (which turned out to be surprisingly simple) and star charts to eleven habitable worlds. She'd also promised to keep her communications array open for weekly story exchanges.

Outpost Sigma-9 felt different somehow—still remote, still lonely, but now connected by an invisible thread to something wonderfully, bizarrely alien.

Eliza smiled as she inventoried her remaining coffee supply. She'd need to request extra in the next supply drone. After all, according to step seven of the algorithm, friends always made sure to have their visitors' preferred beverages on hand.