Reunion on Triton

Wak and Neek return to the Solar System to catch up with the Explorers

Decades had passed since that wild summer in 1986 when Ben Crandall, Wolfgang Müller, and Darren Woods, three teenage dreamers, first encountered the alien siblings Wak and Neek aboard their ramshackle, cobbled-together spaceship. The trio’s homemade ThunderRoad had been a marvel of junkyard ingenuity, but their brief adventure with the quirky, pop-culture-obsessed aliens left an indelible mark. Now, in 2025, the three men—older, grayer, but still bound by that singular experience—had become something else entirely: explorers of the outer solar system, chasing the unknown across the moons of Neptune.


Wolfgang, now a grizzled engineer with a PhD and a penchant for overcomplicating things, had spearheaded the design of their new ship, the StellarWulf. This wasn’t the duct-taped ThunderRoad of their youth. The StellarWulf was a marvel of modern tech: a sleek, modular vessel with advanced air recycling systems that could sustain a crew indefinitely, storage bays packed with supplies for years, and personal force-bubble suits that let them roam alien landscapes without bulky gear. Each bubble, a shimmering energy field, hugged the wearer like a second skin, providing oxygen, radiation shielding, and even a heads-up display for navigation. Every weekend, the trio—Ben, now a wiry exobiologist; Wolfgang, the tech savant; and Darren, a rugged pilot with a knack for improvisation—would pick a new Neptunian moon to explore, cataloging alien minerals, bizarre ice formations, and the occasional hint of microbial life.


Their obsession wasn’t just scientific. Over the years, they’d amassed a digital archive that would’ve made the Library of Congress blush: every scrap of music, TV show, and movie they could get their hands on. From vinyl rips of Elvis to 4K remasters of Star Wars, from I Love Lucy to obscure anime streams, it was all stored on a hardened quantum drive aboard the StellarWulf. They called it the “Earth Archive,” a gift they hoped to one day share with Wak and Neek, if the aliens ever returned. It was a long shot, but the trio never stopped believing.


On a crisp Triton evening—Neptune’s largest moon, where they’d set up a temporary base—they were prepping for their next hop to a smaller, unnamed moonlet. Wolfgang was tinkering with a force-bubble generator, muttering about flux capacitors for old times’ sake, when Ben’s sensor array pinged. A faint, irregular signal was approaching from beyond Neptune’s orbit. Darren, lounging in the cockpit, nearly dropped his coffee. “No way,” he said, squinting at the readouts. “It’s gotta be a glitch.”


It wasn’t. A ship emerged from the void, its hull a chaotic patchwork of glowing panels and salvaged tech, like a cosmic art project. It was unmistakably alien—and unmistakably them. The trio scrambled to the comms, hearts pounding. A familiar, slightly garbled voice crackled through: “Earth dudes! Wak and Neek, reporting for duty! You got any Goonies sequels yet?”


The reunion was a blur of laughter and disbelief. Wak and Neek, now taller, with iridescent skin and a more refined grasp of Earth slang, hadn’t aged as much as their human counterparts—something about their species’ bizarre metabolism. Their new ship, the StarJammer, was a far cry from the rickety craft of their youth, packed with tech that made Wolfgang drool. They invited the humans aboard, and the trio marveled at the alien ship’s holographic interfaces and gravity-defying corridors.


Over a makeshift meal of synthesized protein bars and alien fizzy drinks, the groups swapped stories. Wak and Neek had spent decades exploring their own star systems, but Earth’s pop culture had never left them. When Ben revealed the Earth Archive, Neek’s eyes—or whatever those glowing orbs were—lit up. “You saved all of it? Even ALF?” she squealed, already plugging the quantum drive into their ship’s console. In return, Wak handed over a palm-sized, crystalline device that pulsed with faint light. “This,” he said, “is our history. Every song, story, war, and meme from our people. It’s got an AI to guide you through it—calls itself Zyn. It’s a bit... opinionated.”


The humans activated Zyn later that night, and a dry, sardonic voice filled the StellarWulf’s cabin: “Greetings, carbon-based nostalgists. I am Zyn, keeper of the Xylarian Chronicle. Ask me anything, but don’t expect me to like your taste in music.” The AI was a treasure trove, detailing the Xylarians’ millennia-long journey from a waterlogged homeworld to interstellar nomads. It even threw in snarky commentary about Wak and Neek’s obsession with Earth TV.


For weeks, the two crews explored Neptune’s moons together, the StellarWulf and StarJammer parked side by side on glittering ice fields. They swapped tech, stories, and bad 80s movie quotes, the force-bubble suits letting them wander Triton’s jagged cliffs under Neptune’s azure glow. The humans taught the aliens about Spotify playlists; Zyn taught them about Xylarian poetry, which sounded like whale song mixed with dubstep.


When it was time to part, Wak and Neek promised to return—maybe with a few more alien friends in tow. As the StarJammer vanished into the stars, Ben, Wolfgang, and Darren stood on Triton’s surface, their force bubbles shimmering. “Think we’ll ever top this?” Darren asked, grinning.


Wolfgang adjusted his bubble’s HUD, already analyzing Zyn’s data. “Not a chance,” he said. Ben just laughed, staring at the stars. The Earth Archive was lighter now, shared with friends across the cosmos. And with Zyn’s snarky voice guiding them, the trio knew their next adventure was just beginning.