Sometimes you just have to know as a human that every alien that reminds you of home doesn't feel like a pet.
"The hand that you save might be your own, somewhat like that old song by Michael Jackson says," I said to my colleague Capt. Ronald Taft of the starship Gudit.
"Right on, Capt. Biles-Dixon," Capt. Taft said to me. "Adm. Banneker-Jackson is the model of life on bionic legs, and bionics are getting better and better, but still, no: there will be no petting aquariums with Thrakivan Water Cats in them. We're just throwing the whole planet settlement plan away -- there's too much galaxy out here for all that, and these adult humans our age and older are as bad as the kids!"
I thought about this ... every new group of settlers, every new generation of those who settled ... the constant temptation would have been great for bionic hand makers, but no one else. That and the fact that the system's star would force an evacuation about every 20 years ... nope. Better to let the Thrakivan Water Cats and the auroras forever floating between their million whiskers live in undisturbed peace.
"Hands off to keep hands on," my uncle, Adm. Benjamin Banneker-Jackson said, "and thanks to the Thrakivan Water Cats for tipping the scale against the dumbest settlement plan in the last decade. Commodore Allemande and I have been shaking our heads about that one for a minute because living around a star that is going to knock out your digital infrastructure ROUGHLY every 20 years when we still don't know for certain how rough is rough is a bit too adventurous for us old men."
"Remember how Capt. Taft said the grown-ups are worse than the kids?" I said. "Having stellar flares reaching out and petting your new home while you are dumb enough to be there has got to be as smart as petting Thrakivan Water Cats."
"Yeah," my uncle said with a chuckle. "Good thing wise heads prevailed on this one."