Throughout the Second Space Age of Man one interesting observation plagued explorers and researchers as they traveled across the great distances that separated planetary systems. Through most of the First Space Age of Man many had speculated on what, if any, would alien life be like on these new worlds once man had set foot upon them? All manners of fanciful creature was speculated, drawn, and postulated about as astronomers isolated potential Earth like planets (In the days when life on Earth was so plentiful.) and begin to plot the long term courses that the first stellar pioneers would take in the voyages out into the vastness of space.
Alien zoology became a credible study in the early days of the Second Space Age as expeditions left Mars in hopes of settling new places to resource from. These studies were filled with theoretical genetics, speculative physical sciences, and an assortment of other cutting edge curriculum designed to deal with, and study, what promised to be a diversity the likes no human eyes had ever witnessed before, promised by all the new alien worlds waiting for man’s first footprints.
So, it was with some dismay that, when the first reports were logged, many field journals were filled with observations of… birds. Reports poured in about… cats. And one field researcher was pleased to tell his tale of taming a horse and then going hunting for ground fowl that tasted remarkably like chicken.
To be sure, of course, though they resembled in form the animals that man had been accustomed to for eons, there were some notable differences; color variations, beaks, appendage counts in some cases, animals back home that might have had fur being feathered, in response to some odd environmental oddity. But the overall consensus was that, except for a few odd ducks, to forgive a phrase, the whole of the stellar species seemed to be following a similar pattern.
As the whole of the scientific establishment nearly rattled apart over such a complete shocker of a revelation - that they were almost completely and absolutely wrong, it was a then young alien zoology undergrad at the University of Mons, Trinni Vazquez, working on her thesis paper late one night, who stumbled upon what would later be seen as so plainly obvious that it’s no wonder a room full of lab coats couldn’t see it; though she would meet scorn and ridicule for the rest of her otherwise illustrious career in science: if habitable planets occupy within a certain range of certain stars and contain a certain commonality of elements, then wouldn’t it stand to reason that, given a certain set of values and events, that life might keep turning up a certain kind of way? And, furthermore, wouldn’t it stand that, if there is any intelligent life in our galaxy, that it might also have a certain type of evolutionary process, yielding some sort of similar result anthropologically; both physical and social? Given for a set of environmental divergences, of course.
Though Professor Vazquez would not live to see the fateful events of the encounter at Station 77 that fateful day, The Trinni Vasquez Award for Research and Reasoning is still handed out each term to an undergrad that makes a substantial contribution to the realm of scientific study through common sense observation.