First Contact


What're you looking at, dreg? 

Yeah I'm talking to you. The one standing there looking like a fuckin' blank who just stepped out of a cryo-casket from five hundred years ago. Ain't your momma ever tell you it's not polite to stare? Bad shit can happen when you stare at the wrong person… 

Ach, lay off'im Cap'n. The poor sod's just standing there gaspin' like a Zenobian hyper-trout out of its nutrient bath. Can't you see he's fresh off planet? Besides, ya never know. Might be able to make 'imself useful. Replace some of the spacers we lost when airlock three ruptured. 

I s'pose I am feeling generous. Alright punk, guess it's your lucky day cuz Deeyo likes you. Sit down – I'm buying you a drink. You like morpho? Well you better, because the beer tastes like piss and they use the vodka to take the paint off starship hulls. Barkeep, two morphos and a bleedin' Mary. 

Afore you ask, yes, I am a vampire and no, I ain't gonna bite you. If that freaks you out, that's just your goddamned prejudice talking. Sides, we hit an Alliance freighter at thirteen hundred and I got a good meal then and a few more saved up for later. 

Name's Ezekiel James Creed, but most folks just call me Captain Zeke. I run a frigate for the Firstborn. Crazy motherfuckin' dwarf over there is my first mate Deeyo. 

Much obliged. 

What? Never heard of the Firstborn? Gods, you really are clueless. You really come from that primitive planet down there? 

Ha! See Zeke, I win the bet. Just drop the case of wine off at my quarters. And don't ye waste the money on none've that fancy stuff. 

Well pull m'fangs and call me a bleeder, we got ourselves a real bona fide first-timer. What, surprised to find out there's intelligent life out there besides your fucked-up world? Don't me so goddamned conceited. Of course there's other fucked-up worlds out there. Hundreds of 'em. And some've been explorin' the stars for a lot longer than your backwards mud-ball fulla retards. 

Well I guess you're curious about all this. Probably wonderin' why there's a space-station-cum-saloon tucked away in your asteroid field, and how the galaxy came to a point where you'd be drinking a neon blue drink with a vampire space pirate and some psycho dwarf. 

Psycho alcoholic dwarf, thankya very much. 

Well alright. Ain't no day or night in the void of space so the bar ain't gonna kick us out anytime soon, an' I've got nothing but time on account of my, heh, skin condition. So ask away. I'll catch you up so maybe next intergalactic bar you walk into you won't look like such a fuckin' milk-drinker. 

So, where is it you want to start?

Alpha Draconis