Jenna Driscoll peered at the navigation display in her cramped quarters aboard the Titania, frowning at the steady course line stretching toward Sagan Four. The vessel’s sleek form drifted serenely through the void, yet its next destination felt all wrong to her. A sharp chime cut through the hum of the engines, and Jenna tapped the holographic panel to reveal her visitors: two identical figures, pale-haired and bland-featured, standing just beyond the doorway.
One of them cleared his throat. “I’m William Norman,” he announced, practically reciting an introduction. Beside him stood Franklin Thomas—another face stamped in the universal mold of modern humanity. Jenna had met William once before, when he’d summoned the courage to ask her out. She’d declined, unmoved by the bland uniformity of those classified as “Similars.” In her mind they weren’t people but copies—“Vanillas” stripped of color and edge by a process she’d come to loathe as Vanilla Syndrome.
“Let me guess,” Jenna said, arms crossed. “You two are here to ask why we’re not heading for Sagan Four.”
William’s brow furrowed. “Because you rerouted us to Siduri,” Jenna finished, watching him blink in surprise.
“Correct,” she replied. “I adjusted the nav computer.”
Silence stretched. Then William’s voice rose uncertainly, “Why would you do that? Our orders—”
“I don’t care about your orders,” Jenna snapped, voice low. “I’ve spent long enough surrounded by your kind. Thousands of Vanillas awaiting a new colony, all pale-eyed and beige-skinned. The idea sickens me.”
Franklin swallowed. “Siduri is a detour—”
“Siduri is refuge,” Jenna shot back. “A planet teeming with life so rich and diverse that your monochrome lives would finally have color.”
William opened his mouth, but Jenna cut him off. “Here’s the deal: orbit Siduri, let me off, and I’ll set a new heading for Planet Vanilla.” She paused. “Or Sagan Four, as you prefer to call it.”
They agreed, their expressions awkward under the weight of her defiance. Before long, William coaxed the shuttle away, with two dozen Similars in tow, their soft murmurings barely audible over the engines. Jenna insisted on a weapons check—no arms for a planet of peace—and oversaw their boarding with a detached air.
Touching down, she led the disembarking party onto the lavender grasses of Siduri, where an astonishing sight awaited: a group of colonists astride native Frains—six-legged, hairless creatures with luminous cerulean hides and four curious eyes. The humans perched atop the Frains spanned every complexion and build: ebony, ivory, olive; tall, short, and everything in between. Jenna’s heart swelled as she realized what she was witnessing: the vibrant spectrum of humanity in harmony with an alien ecosystem.
A tall man with dark skin and a warm smile dismounted first. “I am Nanq Telgard,” he introduced, gesturing to his Frain companion, “Pfunj.” The creature rustled its triangular ears and emitted a song-like trill. “Welcome to Siduri.”
The Similars followed, hesitating as their bland features registered the riot of color and motion. One young woman shrieked at the sight of a grazing Frain, stumbling into a colleague until chaos ensued. William raised his hands, “Everyone, calm down,” and gradually restored order.
Nanq offered refreshments—fried panglang and simmered sproong, local delicacies matched with amber-hued brews. Panglang resembled toasted grasshoppers; sproong, more adventurous diners said, tasted like tender stewed chicken feet with almost invisible bones. At their first taste, many Similars paled. One woman turned green and begged to be taken to the infirmary; another pleaded to return to the Titania. William gave the signal, and a handful clambered back aboard, their departure leaving Jenna strangely wistful. Despite her prejudice, she’d hoped they might find wonder in this world as she had.
The Titania departed, leaving Jenna to savor her first true meal in months. Under a sky painted with twin suns, she laughed with the Sidurian hosts, sharing stories and beer until stars spilled into view.
Dawn on Siduri came softly. The shuttle returned, its ramp hissing open to reveal William once more—this time alone. Behind him walked a small group of Similars who’d found their courage.
“We’ve decided to stay,” William announced. His hazel eyes—unusual in their slight sparkle—wandered to Jenna. “What about you?”
Jenna blinked. Her mouth felt dry. She had expected resistance, scorn, perhaps relief. Instead, she felt a gentle warmth at the thought that some of her former shipmates might embrace the strange and wonderful.
“Why the change of heart?” Jenna asked softly.
William shrugged, a shy grin lifting one corner of his mouth. “Maybe it’s time we broke free of Vanilla Syndrome.”
She glanced at the hopeful faces around him, at the wild grasses and the distant mountains curled beneath a morning haze. Judging their resolve, she allowed herself a small smile.
“Then you’re welcome here,” she said, voice steady. “All of you.”
And as the shuttle’s ramp closed behind her, Jenna Driscoll understood that true unity lay not in homogeny, but in the celebration of difference—across humankind and beyond.
