Visitors 101 Our most distant cousins have been visiting us for millennia. It is only in relatively recent history since the invention of the camera that their surprisingly friendly visitations have been documented on film. Previously humans relied on written accounts or artistic depictions, some of which we hope to show you should they be released to us soon. However this evidence, when it occasionally surfaces is quickly confiscated or ridiculed and labelled as a hoax, so amazingly these visits remain merely a myth until this day. In dusty boxes hidden in shady museums and secure facilities these pictures are mostly hidden away indefinitely until someone discovers them and is brave enough to leak them onto the internet and into public consciousness. Here is our first batch of pictorial documentation of these visitors throughout the ages. Visitors 073 - c1890s Mecha-Melibrax Frank Enstein and the Mecha-Melibrax Dilemma (A Bureaucratic Tangle in Three Acts) I. The Visitor The year was 1897, or 1898, or whenever it was that nobody had yet figured out how to file paperwork efficiently. Dr. Frank Enstein, a scientist of reasonable reputation and unreasonable expectations, had just finished a long day of arguing with the post office when something bigger than a man, shinier than a factory whistle, and leggier than a centipede’s fever dream skittered into his study. It introduced itself as a Mecha-Melibrax from Mars, a member of an industrious species attempting to set up a sustainable colony. It had come seeking his expertise in "delicate terrestrial engineering principles" (aka, Victorian-era welding and a fondness for brass tubing). But first, it needed to submit Form 27B-6 to the Lunar Liaison Office, because all interplanetary collaborations fell under the jurisdiction of The Bureau for Interspecies Development & Galactic Oversight (BIDGO). Dr. Enstein squinted at the five-inch-thick regulation manual that the Melibrax unfolded from a hidden compartment in its thorax. "It says here I need a permit to acknowledge your existence," he said. "Yes," the Melibrax clicked solemnly. "But before that, I need a signed waiver affirming that you have not already acknowledged me." II. The Bureaucratic Abyss The situation worsened when Enstein contacted the Lunar Bureaucratic Outpost, an office governed entirely by a species of hyper-intelligent jellyfish who had, centuries ago, fused themselves with their own typewriters. "You will need to GROK the situation," one of the lunar administrators wheezed through an inky telepathic communiqué. "Grok?" Enstein asked. "Yes. Grok." "What the devil does that mean?" "It means you understand it so completely that you become it. If you do not fully GROK the licensing requirements, you cannot file the forms." "But I don’t want to become the licensing requirements," Enstein protested. "Then you have failed to GROK. Application denied." The Melibrax shuffled its enormous legs awkwardly. "I could go back and get my supervisor," it offered. "And where is your supervisor?" "Oh, well, he’s in a holding pattern near Titan. The paperwork to land takes at least six of your Earth years." Enstein was beginning to suspect that the Galactic Federation had no real intention of ever approving anything. III. The Final Straw In the end, it wasn’t the paperwork that broke him. It wasn’t even the five-hour hearing before the Interstellar Judiciary over the definition of "helping." It was the final letter from BIDGO, sent via an extra-dimensional carrier pigeon and stamped with an official "WE VALUE YOUR INPUT" emblem. "Dear Earth Citizen," it read. "Your request to interact with a Martian entity has been denied on the grounds of potential technological cross-contamination. However, we thank you for your dedication to interspecies cooperation. Should you wish to appeal this decision, please submit Form 783-Z (Request to Challenge Decisions) alongside Form 221-T (Acknowledgment of the Futility of Appeals)." Frank Enstein screamed into a pillow. The Melibrax patted his shoulder with an appendage designed for welding but mostly used for consoling frustrated scientists. "You know," it said, "this is why most advanced civilizations don’t bother with bureaucracy at all." "Then how do they run their planets?" "Oh, they don’t." "Then what happens?" "Mostly anarchy. And occasional sing-alongs." Enstein considered this. Then, quietly, he began forging the signatures of the Lunar Jellyfish Administrators on a completely fabricated permit. The Melibrax did not object.