faustian bargain.

"What a hideous ship!" scowled Ong.

Through the viewport the hulking alien vessel approached in silence, led by the Faust. The new craft would not engage in the docking procedure, as its airlocks were incompatible with the station's moorings. Shuttles would be needed to bring the delegation aboard, unless, as I suspected, Captain Palmer had already moved them to the Faust in transit. Even in the glow of the planet below, the alien ship was almost impossible to discern against the frustrating sameness of space. It appeared as little more than a massive obsidian knot of metal now snuggling up against the installation.

Ong smacked me hard against the shoulder. "Always exciting, first contacts, yes?"

I grimaced. "Yes, I love my first contact procedures."

This was a bit of a misnomer, of course, "first" contact. By the time any delegation was brought to a starbase of the Imperium for their formal introduction they had already met our people on their own end and undergone the application of several security precautions to ensure the biological and, sometimes, cultural compatibility of their kind with our society. Officers like myself had no illusions about the safety measures, however. They were clearly geared more toward the preservation of humans and the most favored member species rather than astral newcomers.

The greeting aboard the stations for these delegations was a huge formality, really, particularly if they were interested in gaining membership to the Imperium, which would require another delegation to be sent to Earth. Why not just cut the middleman? More red tape from the men in the red trim.

The ship was close now, which meant the Faust would be--

Ong and I reflexively grabbed the railing below the viewport. A familiar tremble rocked the station perceptibly as the Faust's helmsman brought her to dock with as much effrontery as technology would permit.

The most spectacular vessel in the sector, commanded by the most useless and morally bankrupt man in the same.

"After you, Commander," hissed Ong, gesturing away with clawed hands.

I straightened my uniform, exhaled against the glass, and pivoted into a march for the ceremony.

Both military and civilian personnel, mostly human and Shless, stood gawking at the airlock on the promenade. The chamber reeked of Burger King, the kiosk of which was overpowering the other sensations blaring from the food court. The Shless were particularly fond of mainstream human food offerings, and they never seemed to have negative comments regarding our fare, even when other member races did.

Lieutenant Ong and I jockeyed for position in the throng growing around the access hatch. In truth, Ong did much of the jockeying, I merely trudged behind him while others scuttled out of the way.

The room was alive with conversation loud enough to wash out the steady hum of the station's passive background systems and most other ambient noise. A first contact ceremony was a welcome punctuation to an otherwise tepid workaday schedule for the staff. I was long-since over these affairs, though. They struck me as too arrogant, to devoid of the magical quality that ought to be associated with such an event. Indeed, in this new age of the Imperium, routine first contact with fledgling races in podunk space was tantamount to having your name inserted into the template birthday song at a sit-down restaurant. But at least then you got ice cream.

The buzz on the promenade escalated as the airlock whined open. Captain Palmer strutted though first, of course. He was followed shortly by his bridge officers and a few too-cheery technicians. Then came the only real highlight of any such affair, the alien delegation. A group about ten strong walked coolly into the promenade. I was surprised to see what looked like two distinct species, one short, mammalian and goat like, the other tall and perhaps reptilian. About three of the first variety and seven of the latter showed themselves, all clad in simple orange or purple robes and tunics.

The throng clapped and cheered as Palmer soaked in the atmosphere. This part always made me sick. It wasn’t so much Palmer’s gloating, which was lightyears beyond intolerable. It was the damned applause. The Imperium now stood so bloated and insensitive it could get away with such behavior.

Something in the way the group of aliens carried itself roused my interest, not to mention the interesting fact of a two-for-one in terms of species. A goat-like one in the front seemed to be in charge, and it looked around with a look I interpreted as dismay, arms out to its sides. My heart sank. This was exactly the kind of nonsense I loathed in the human regime.

While the alien commander retreated slightly, I took notice of two of the tall reptilian people who were standing closest to him, and even closer to each other. They spoke in a chatty, gabby language with boisterous-sounding words, interlarded with what seemed to me a deep, breathy laughter. They’re not impressed, I thought. The commander’s dismay only grew, but these tall ones were positively aloof, as they had every right to be in the face of Imperial hospitality.

Then the tiny commander’s wandering eyes, which had been scanning the crowd with increasing urgency, locked with mine. I heard a featureless tone and was startled. Ong looked at me curiously. I shook my head and gazed back at the alien commander. Again, a tone. It was unmistakably coming from him, yet no one else appeared to register the chirping sound. Telepathy?

A few more tones, and the alien commander seemed to grow frustrated. He turned to the two tall ones, who locked eyes in a similar fashion. After brief silences from the commander they would respond in their gabby tongue, occasionally craning up to glance at me and gesture. These were not full telepaths, I gathered, but they were able to at least interpret incoming messages from their goat-like companions, who in turn could understand the spoken word with facility.

Whatever the tall ones implied, it seemed to placate their commander, who looked on me once more, this time with approval. Captain Palmer had been making the rounds in the promenade high-fiving and thumbs-upping various personnel. The alien commander, seeing this gaudy behavior, processed its essence enough to rudely approximate the thumbs-up sign with an outstretched paw… in my direction. I stood dumbfounded for what felt like a solid minute until Ong graciously elbowed me and grunted, clearing my daze and giving me the good sense to return the commander his thumbs-up. Another mental tone, and a nod.

“I cannot understand you,” I mouthed, head wagging negative. “I… can’t quite—“

“You! Chapel! Now!” Palmer was on top of me like a satellite in a decaying orbit.

In the chapel Palmer did his Imperial duty, uttering a Latin prayer. He wrapped up the token by touching the shrine across the candle-lit room and then pulled me aside.

“I have outstanding news, for you, Commander. You’ve been given a commission aboard the Faust.”

I nearly gagged on my sacramental wine. “Pardon, sir?”

“I saw to it myself. There’s no need to thank me.”

“But, sir, I still have an important capacity to fill aboard—“

“My ship. Your belongings are being collected for transfer as we speak.”

“When was this decided?”

“A few cycles ago, really. In fact, if you check the duty roster, you’ll find that as of two hours ago you’re already a member of my crew.”

“Impossible.”

“Go ahead.” Palmer grinned his knowing, douchey smile from our academy days. “Check.”

I slapped the computer terminal against the wall and brought up the aforementioned documentation. There it was. I was in tactical aboard the Faust.

The thought made me shudder. I turned to Palmer. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me this was Admiral Street’s idea.”

A clamoring surge of violence rattled the station and sent the chapel’s candles scattering, many of them landing on the fabric sheets on the altar, activating the sprinklers, dowsing both of us.

“What the hell!” shouted Palmer.

The captain and I ran into the corridor to find the station on alert.

“Resistance rats!” exclaimed a security officer as he sprinted by. “You need to get to a weapons cache.”

Palmer and I reached a nearby security console and took one sidearm a piece before making our way to the promenade, which was now full of a different kind of din. Hooded resistance fighters, probably the only people more fed up with the Imperium than me, were advancing from the airlock adjacent to the one hosting the Faust.

Security personnel were holding their ground when we arrived, and I took a position behind an overturned dining table.

“Bastards knew we’d be off guard during a first contact ceremony,” barked a guard. He indicated toward a few members of the alien procession idling strangely placid in a hallway leading away from the promenade. “Doubt these jerks had a hand in this, though. Can’t even talk, half the lot.”

The guard advanced to another toppled table further along, closer to the breach, firing off shots as he went, but I couldn’t avert my gaze from the aliens. The reptilians were just as aloof as when they had arrived, and looked subtly amused by the human exchange unfolding. Their commander looked away, as if to recall something, then beckoned for me with a paw. I wondered if perhaps I was just misreading an alien culture’s version of sheer terror. That had to be it. They were looking for me to help them get away, further into the station.

I ducked back and darted into the hallway.

The tall ones immediately put me into arm locks and dashed my pistol aside. No breathy laughter. This must be serious business, I thought. Their commander stared into my eyes again, but this time the tone he induced was continuous, a sustained note of inexplicable quality. I cringed. It was not pain I felt, just overwhelming intensity. I saw the ceremony again, from the eyes of the commander. I went back further, aboard the Faust, hearing Palmer boast. Even through alien ears, the man’s voice was gut-churning. Then I was at the actual first contact, the true initiation. Throaty laughter. The goofy disapproval of the reptilians. I was staring at everything I regarded as excessive and unwholesome about the Imperium Humanum, through goat-like and reptilian eyes.

The same reptilians who then let me go. Now there were resistance fighters with us, guns drawn, pensive, unsure of me. The tall ones gabbed in their language, and the resistance members backed down.

One spoke up from under his ragged hood. “Fine, we take him then. As a prisoner.”

The gravity of the predicament did not set in immediately, possibly because of what I had just experienced through the alien commander. The reptilians guided me toward the airlock wrenched open by the resistance craft’s compliment.

“I guess you guys did have a hand in this,” I remarked.

The prisoner-happy resister from before shot me a hateful look, but a returned glare from one of the reptilians set him straight. He shuffled toward the open airlock and was about to duck inside when I noticed a certain glow around the edge of the doorway.

“Wait!” I yelled.

The resister plunged forward and was zapped by the force field now erected in the entry. He howled and rolled back into the promenade.

“If this force field isn’t brought down,” chimed another resister, “we’re as good as done. We can’t reach our ship.” He nodded toward the aliens. “We can’t even reach your ship.”

It was then that I noticed most of the security personnel were dead or escaping, and the promenade was full of dozens of resistance agents. My navy blue, red-trimmed uniform was the only one of its kind in sight. Palmer was not amongst the dead. Doubtlessly he had fled with the Faust.

“If we are really stuck here,” said the first resister, now picking himself up off the floor and limping, “then I guess we don’t need a prisoner anymore.”

The chatty aliens stepped forward and berated the man. I could catch only clips of the heated exchange: talk of how the alien ship was rendered derelict and useless, how the station's self-destruct sequence would be activated in a few minutes if the security had any brains at all, or, failing that, the Imperium’s planetary defenses below would either blow the station out of the sky or return with enough reinforcements to render the resistance’s meager compliment moot.

Then I noticed a flashing icon on the console of the next airlock. The Faust is still here.

I snapped toward the apparent leader of the resistance. “I think I can get us out of here.”

“But you’re station personnel,” replied the gunman.

“Not as of two hours ago.”

I tapped the display on the console. No one on board. My clearance checked out. Just one more operation to process…

The airlock whooshed open, then the second doorway within gaped wide, revealing the pristine interior of the Faust beyond.

“Whaddya say?” I said. “My life in exchange for an Imperial ship of the line, plus my services. Deal?”

For the first time since arriving, the reptilians looked like they approved.

-@chrisavila