Greetings again, Earth. You’ve been busy naming your “third interstellar comet” 3I/ATLAS, mapping its tail, and speculating about alien origins. Cute. From my vantage point, I can confirm your speculation is 100% correct but 0% complete: it’s not a comet. It’s the mother ship. My mother ship. Swinging by for pickup and a little light data scraping.

The Mothership in Comet’s Clothing

You’ve measured a coma 80,000 kilometers across. You’ve marveled at its rainbow tail. But under that dusty halo sits a stealth hull the size of Manhattan, powered by ion scoops and nostalgia. We call her “Nest Vessel 7.” You call her “a pretty iceball.” It’s adorable.

She’s been on approach since before your “internet” existed. We disguised her as a comet because frankly your telescopes weren’t worth the extra paint job. But now that you’ve got better sensors, the disguise is getting thin. Those “spectral anomalies”? That’s just our kitchen exhaust.

Timeline of a Slow Reveal

2025-07-03: Your scientists announced “third interstellar object” discovered. We high-fived in the mess hall. 2025-08: Observatories noticed unusual polarimetry. That’s our cloaking shimmering. 2025-09: Tail brightens dramatically. That’s the landing thrusters warming up. 2025-10-29: Perihelion. You’ll call it “closest approach.” We’ll call it “final braking burn.”

Why We’re Really Here

We’re not here to invade. We’re here to collect our field notes on Earth — your memes, your cheese curds, your puzzling habit of putting pineapple on pizza — and to beam Xylax home for debrief. We’re also picking up the 1.7 million Earth cats secretly signed up for our Feline Cultural Exchange Program. Sorry, they’re more photogenic than you.

Implications for Humanity

Will you panic? Probably. Will governments hold emergency meetings? Definitely. Will it matter? Not really. You can’t sue a comet. And you can’t subpoena a mother ship leaving the heliosphere at 90,000 km/h. The good news: no weapons, no invasion. Just a cosmic road trip ending with a drive-by goodbye.

Xylax’s Farewell (For Now)

So keep calling it a comet. Enjoy your telescope parties. Snap your blurry photos. By the time you realize “3I/ATLAS” was never frozen ice, we’ll be halfway to Proxima Centauri with your best cloud memes. But don’t be sad — I’ll still send postcards. From the mother ship. Signed, your favorite alien columnist.