“Brian Jennings, you are requested to come up to the bridge. I repeat, Brian Jennings, you are requested to come up to the bridge. Please access the nearest intercom and confirm.”

Someone was talking in Brian’s ear. Someone with a clear, female voice, nonplussed and unconcerned. She sounded like she was a nice person.

Despite her potential niceness, he lifted his pillow, stuck his brown-haired head under it, and put its cool underside on his cheek, pinning his head between it and his springy mattress. Wiggling into the small niche he’d made overnight, he settled in and sighed comfortably, closing his eyes once again.

“Brian Jennings. You are requested to come to the-”

“Oh, shove off. Give me that!”

He opened his dark eyes irritably as someone else interrupted the nice lady, someone with a much gruffer and more irritated voice. Still, it didn’t especially concern him, since-

“BRIAN JENNINGS!”

Brian fell out of bed with a yelp, dragging his thick comforter with him and landing on the hard floor rump-first. Tangled in the heavy blanket, he struggled for a moment, sitting up and looking around blearily.

“Get up to the bridge right this carking instant or I’ll shove you out an airlock and watch you suffocate!”

Rubbing his eyes, Brian yawned, picked his glasses up from the nightstand next to his bunk, and put them on, blinking tiredly. Slowly getting to his feet, he pulled the comforter up and started tucking the edges under the mattress, frowning at the small puddle of drool by his pillow. Was that really all me?

In his defense, he was quite tired. He’d been up until the second hour of the daily cycle writing a thesis on trans-galactic sentient species and culture exchanges, talking excitedly to crew members that weren’t listening and drawing diagrams on a holoboard that made less sense than chicken scratch.

Thankfully, the information finally seeped into his brain, and his eyes widened with a shock. Leaving the bed half-made, he checked the clock (10:97) and sprinted for the door. Throwing it open, he paused, remembering something, and lunged for the nightstand. Yanking drawers open, he rummaged through them in a frantic panic before finding what he was looking for. Seizing his worn datapad, he tucked it under his arm, pivoted on one foot, and slipped on the corner of his blanket, which was draped along the floor. His foot went up and he crashed to the floor. He lay there for a moment, tears rising to his eyes as he tried to get his breath back, then pulled himself to his feet. Shaking it off, he ran for the hallway and skidded into it.

Crew members of various species watched him with amused expressions as he ran full tilt through the halls, hurling himself into the hovervator. The ‘vator righted his movement into an upright position, and he waited anxiously for it to take him to the bridge, fingers drumming on his datapad’s top edge.

The United Galactic Colonies, or U.G.C. for short, were the owners, proprietors, and designers of the Glory Days. It was a ten-kilometer flagship cruiser, armed with state-of-the-art kinetic cannons and tracking plasma missiles. It was shaped, for lack of a better term, like an upside-down shoe. The bridge was located at what would be the heel of the ‘shoe’, a sweeping view of glass windows revealing the cold expanse of space they traveled through. Ion-propelled repair drones swarmed the outside, busily maintaining and updating the exterior of the ship and ensuring everything worked in full order at all times. Its gravity production and Aegis engine were top-of-the-line, beaten only by the most private (and expensive) of corvettes.

The hovervator deposited him at the floor he needed, and he ran onto the bridge, clutching his glasses to make sure they didn’t fall off one-handed and fumbling with his datapad with the other. Slowing to a hurried walk, he sped across the glass floor, multiple technicians and operators busily working underneath him on an impressive array of holographic screens.

The man he was looking for was standing at the peak of the bridge, hands folded behind the small of his back as he faced outside, a complex board of controls at his fingertips to maneuver the Glory Days at his whim, not that Captain Evan Brahms would ever perform a non-approved course of action. With an impressive crimson duster coat, the edges gold-lined and rippling in the moderated air conditioning, he made for an impressive figure. Turning to see Brian hurrying towards him, the man’s flawlessly maintained eyebrows raised in mild amusement. His hair was excellently groomed, his uniform wrinkle-free. Every inch of him screamed of authority.

“Mr. Jennings. I take it you were in bed?”

He gestured to him, and Brian took a look at his clothing, realizing with abject horror that he was still wearing his baby-blue pencil-themed pajamas. A flush of red crawling into his cheeks, he stammered, “Uh, sorry. Should I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to end the sentence.

Captain Brahms waved it away. “Don’t worry about it. More importantly, you’re the expert on all species not under the U.G.C’s domain, correct?”

Brian held his hand in a so-so gesture. “Well, technically speaking, I’m an intern at Xophos Intergalactic University with a major in trans-universal sentient species, so I’m not really an expert, per se. I’m more of a-”

Brahms cut him off. “You were recommended into the university with stellar grades and literally rewrote the policy on encounters with aliens, you graduated high school at fourteen, you’ve discovered two separate species and assisted in writing the treaties for both of them - I’d say you’re an expert.”

Brian awkwardly tried for a smile. “Oh, well thank you very much. That’s high praise coming from-”

The captain interrupted him again. “Regardless, I wanted to ask you if you knew anything about this ship.” He gestured to the window, and Brian fixed his glasses, squinting.

The spaceship hovering a good two hundred kilometers away looked… organic, for lack of a better word. A single flaring column, probably about two kilometers long, made up the spine of the ship, two misshapen bulks attached to the side. There didn’t appear to be any visible propulsion, and small holes pockmarked the underside. Ten long, jointed rods protruded from the bottom, curling inwards. Strangely, at least a dozen gigantic red semi-transparent orbs dotted the forward tip of the ship, set above two giant hooked spurs.

Brian frowned. “It looks like an insect.”

Brahms resisted rolling his eyes. “We’re aware of that, Mr. Jennings. What we want to know is if you recognize it, or possibly who made it if nothing else.”

Brian thought out loud, musing quietly. “Well, I’ve never seen anything like it, honestly. It was clearly built with purpose, but I can’t imagine what. It’s indicative of a more carapetic species, not unlike the Kazik, but its design is more reminiscent of the original Formo ships, before the industrial revolution from… what, two hundred years ago?”

Brahms didn’t like it when people talked rubbish as though everyone around them should know what they were talking about and firmly placed a hand on Brian’s shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. “Jennings. The current policy on extracolony species is to initiate first contact via ansible, but I haven’t seen any receivers on this thing. What would you recommend?”

Brian shrugged, eyes glued to the odd ship. “I don’t really know. I mean, this ship has every type of major technological communications equipment made in the past century on it, right?” Brahms gestured for him to continue, so he did. “Well then, just send every signal we have at it. One of them is bound to stick.”

Brahms raised an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting we bombard them with communications signals and hope they don’t blast us out of the sky for overloading their servers?”

“Spamming them, yes. Given their ship’s design, I’d be surprised if they had communication servers of any kind. Besides, I’m confident our shields can hold up to anything they have in terms of firepower. Our ship is quite a lot bigger, isn’t it?”

The captain shrugged. “You’re the expert.” Leaning on the railing, he began shouting orders at the assorted crew below, and the bridge erupted into a flurry of activity.

A full minute went by before one of them raised a hand. The creature in question was bipedal, with backward-facing knees, three-fingered hands, and a wide bone-like forehead. His bumpy skin was a rich blue color, and his triangular head turned up to them as he spoke. “I’m getting a return signal, sir!”

Brahms indicated him. “Nahin, redirect it to my speakers and give me a microphone.”

Nahin nodded, typing on his keyboard furiously to get the results the captain wanted. Straightening his crisp tie, Brahms once again folded his hands behind his back. “Is it on?”

Raising a hand, Nahin counted down from three, and as he did, the bridge fell into silence. At one, he pointed at Brahms and flicked a switch.

Brahms spoke in what he called his ‘captain voice’, filling his voice with deep, imperious authority. “Unidentified ship, please state your business. I am a representative of the United Galactic Colonies, and we are prepared to fire under threat of conflict.”

There was a long silence, filled only by the scratchy sound of old tech, and then a gruff growl came through. “Are you humans?”

Brahms looked at Brian questioningly, and he shrugged uncertainly. Turning to face the ship, he spoke again. “Mostly, yes. Why is that important?”

A long sigh filtered through the speakers, the sound of many voices in the background complaining. The original speaker said grumpily, “Fine. I will send myself soon.”

Brahms coughed politely. “Pardon, but are you the captain of the ship in question?”

The voice irritably growled back at him, “Yes, I am Captain Goodest. Open one of your doors.”

Blinking in surprise, Brahms turned to Brian and mouthed, “What kind of a name is Goodest?” Brian shrugged again. All species had different naming traditions - there was bound to be one that made less sense than others.

Suddenly, the lights flashed red, and Brahms sprang into action, placing his palms on the controls. “What’s going on? Someone get me readings!”

A man in the far corner raised his hand. “Sir, there’s something outside Airlock Three-One-Two! We have feed.”

Brahms snapped his fingers at him, pointing to space. “Pull it up, now!”

The man nodded and typed briefly, and then an image came up, eliciting startled responses from the crew.

A long ropy thing was clinging to the side of the Glory Days, measuring four, maybe five meters at least. With a hard, layered carapace and a minimum of a hundred spiked legs, it was looking around curiously, its half-dozen red eyes blinking space debris away. It possessed four black mandibles in an upside-down semicircle, clicking against its wide, toothy mouth repeatedly, and two short, hooked antennae sprouted from the top of its head.

Seizing the transparent microphone, Brahms spoke into it rapidly. “What is that thing? I thought you said you were sending the captain!”

Several moments later, a disgruntled voice talked back to them. “That is Captain Goodest.”

Brahms opened his mouth, then closed it. After a moment’s hesitation, he responded, “My apologies. I may have overreacted slightly.”

The voice replied with no small amount of annoyance. “Are you going to let him stay outside?”

Brahms gestured to someone. “Open that airlock and send someone to greet the… captain. Brian, that means you.”

Brian saluted unnecessarily, heading for the hovervator. “Yes sir. I’ll try and settle this whole thing, and maybe we can come to an agreement.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There was a small room just past the airlock where one could discard their spacesuits, which would be recycled into the system and kept for later use. It was that room that Brian stumbled into, tripping over the small bump in his soft brown slippers. Fixing his glasses, he smiled accommodatingly. "Hello, Captain Goodest! How may I be of assistance?"

The alien - Goodest - looked him up and down, appraising him critically. "Hm. Humans." He shook his head disappointedly, the lower portion of his body coiled into a neat loop.

Brian was a little thrown by the comment. "Uh, sorry?"

Goodest shrugged slightly, the movement rippling down his body. "It's you humans. Your clothing is so unprotective and... pointless. There is no bulk or armor to them."

Brian flushed slightly as he was once again reminded of the fact he was wearing pajamas and rubbed the back of his neck with a shamefaced grin. "Ehh... sorry about that. I woke up a little late today. It's not the greatest first impression, I'll admit."

Goodest's eyes narrowed, and Brian felt a bead of sweat crawl down the bead of his neck. It was indeed true that he'd dealt with two separate unaffiliated species before, but neither of them had heard of humans before, and certainly hadn't had a negative view of them to start with.

Startling Brian, Goodest sighed. "I am Goodest at being Captain, but less good at being..." His forehead scrunched briefly as he recollected the words he wanted. "...civil. I will invite another shedding."

Brian started, "Actually, the airlock is still pressurizing, so-" He was interrupted for the third time that day as another type of whatever Goodest was - a shedding, he said? - blinked into existence next to him. It looked like someone taking a folded piece of paper and yanking it open abruptly.

Jumping back in surprise, Brian stiffened, then stood straight, pasting a calm smile on his face to hide the frantic turmoil inside. Did the thing just teleport inside? We're supposed to have safeguards against any unapproved signals being sent in, and teleportation should have lit up that alarm system like a plasma cannon!

The second shedding shook briefly. It was noticeably smaller than Goodest, likely three meters long at most. Its carapace was a shimmering blue, with much thinner legs. It blinked, all four of its eyes shuttering open and closed with a barely audible clack. It only had two small mandibles, with a relatively narrow mouth. A pair of long, fine antennae emerged from its forehead, the tips splitting into five hair-thin lines. It wriggled slightly, then asked in a cheery, female voice, "Cappy! What did you want?"

Goodest visibly glared at her, but she refused to back down. "It's Captain, Killerie. We're in front of humans. What would the Bestmonster want?"

The words made her flinch, and her antennae drooped comically. "Sorry. May the Bestmonster ever be praised."

Goodest nodded his assent. "And may the Beginner grant you power."

With the curious greeting out of the way, the female shedding turned to Brian, dipping her head politely. "My name is Engineer Killerie. I will be the one talking to any humans here instead of Capp - Captain Goodest."

Brian smiled pleasantly, mind racing. What did those phrases mean? It sounded as though they had been referencing two religious figures, probably deities based on the reverence in their voices. Moreover, how did they have engineers if they didn't have any hands?

He bowed in return. "My name is Brian Jennings. I'm the representative for the Glory Days, the flagship under the United Galactic Colonies. Can I get you anything? Perhaps some tea?"

Both of the sheddings looked at him hopefully. Their faces are remarkably expressive. "Do you have any rats?"

Brian opened his mouth and then closed it, before uncertainly responding, "Uhhh... no. There might be one or two stowaways, but considering the amount of money the U.G.C. poured into this ship, I'd doubt it."

Goodest snorted his irritation. "Humans. They never keep any good food around." He turned away, speaking as he did. "Killerie, you are in charge of talking to humans. Don't kill any unless you have a good reason, remember?" He vanished in much the same way Killerie had entered, with a faint ripple of distorting space that hurt Brian's head to look at.

Looking down, he saw Killerie grinning at him, mandibles spread wide. He hadn't thought the sheddings could do that, but there it was, an unmistakable smile. She asked him, "So, if not rats, what food do you have?"

Brian smiled outwardly, screaming internally. What did I get myself into?