With some basic audio communication established, Felix’s excitement was skyrocketing.

He spun in his chair, barely able to contain himself. “Amy, this is incredible! Actual first contact!”

Amy, however, was less than enthusiastic. “Are you sure we should be doing this?” Her synthetic voice carried a rare note of uncertainty. “This ship appeared out of nowhere. No FTL trail, no subspace ripple—just... there. They speak an uncatalogued language, and their technology is... well, I’m not even sure I’d call it technology—”

Felix’s grin faltered. “Amy…” He recognized that tone—the one she used right before suggesting a very cautious retreat.

Her voice sharpened. “We should notify the Imperium. Let them send a proper first contact team. You know—trained diplomats.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You want me to call the Imperium?” He turned toward the viewport, the alien ship hanging against the stars like something out of a dream. “Right. Let the government swoop in and claim it. Then it’s meetings. Committees. Red tape. And me?” His voice dropped. “I’m a footnote at best. Or more likely, they’ll cut me out completely.”

That familiar ache twisted in his chest—the fire that had driven him through every empty scan, every cold salvage, every year chasing something more. This was his.

His voice softened, but it carried an edge of resolve. “Amy... this is why I’m out here. This is why we’re out here. Not for scrap. For this.”

Before she could reply, the comm crackled, and a familiar voice cut through. “Captain Felix. Can you hear me now?”

Felix’s eyes lit up. “Paeris! That’s much better! Am I coming through clearly?”

The signal carried faint static but was far more clear than before. “Clear enough for a conversation.”

Felix caught distant voices behind Paeris—the crew, speaking in their unknown tongue. He still didn’t understand why he could only comprehend Paeris. Another puzzle for later. Right now, there was only one thing on his mind.

Felix, barely able to keep his voice steady suggested “How about... a face-to-face meeting?”

There was a beat of silence.

Amy’s voice, tight and sharp in his ear. “Felix! What are you doing?”

Felix winced but didn’t mute the channel. “Talking, Amy. Having a conversation. You know, like people do. What did you think all that was leading up to?”

Amy, her synthetic voice rising. “You can’t be serious! You don’t know who or what they are! For all you know, they breathe chlorine and eat human spleens!”

Felix, dryly “Well, if they do, you can keep the ship.”

From the other end, Paeris’s voice broke in—smooth, amused:

“I assume that’s your crewmate with the delightful cautionary streak?”

He chuckled. “You could say that.”

In the background, Felix heard Paeris speaking to his crew—though he only caught fragments of it. From the tone, it sounded like Paeris was getting the same pushback that Amy was giving him.

“Well, I don’t know—maybe he can use a teleportation spell or something!”

Felix’s brow furrowed. Teleportation spell? What?

He chalked it up to a translation quirk. With how surprisingly smooth the conversation had been so far, he’d figured the odd technical hiccup was bound to slip through.

Finally, Paeris’s voice returned, laced with wry amusement:

“Captain Felix, my… Captain has given you permission to board—on the condition that the rules of guest-right and hospitality apply. I assume your people have something similar?”

Felix’s brows lifted. Guest-right. Old term. Older than spacefaring. But he liked it.

“We do,” he replied. “I promise I’m unarmed, and you… promise you won’t eat my spleen or something. Sound about right?”

There was a pause—then a rich chuckle from Paeris:

“Yes. I think that should about cover it.”

Amy, still clearly unhappy:

“...I’m logging this under ‘potentially catastrophic decisions.’”

Felix’s smirk widened.

“Go ahead. Title it ‘Best Day Ever.’”

The comm crackled again with Paeris’s voice.

“Well, Captain Felix, it seems we’re in agreement. Now, how exactly do you propose to board?”

Felix’s fingers danced over his console. “My ship has a universal docking tube designed to seal against almost anything. Don’t suppose you’ve got an airlock handy?”

A pause. Then Paeris, voice amused:

“Airlock? Not exactly sure what you mean, but we have a hatch. Let’s just say we’ve never needed to perform a procedure like this before.”

Felix frowned. “...You don’t have an airlock?”

Amy replied with a tinge of annoyance in her voice. “No airlock, never docked before... I’m sensing a theme.”

Paeris, clearly relaying:

“Fizz says if you can align with our hatch and create a ‘pressure seal’—whatever that is—she and Skrill will handle adjustments on our side.”

Felix grinned. “That works. I’ll extend my docking tube and create the seal. Once it’s pressurized, you can open the hatch. My sensors will test the air, and if it’s safe…” His grin widened. “I’ll come say hello.”

The Fortuna’s maneuvering thrusters flared, nudging the ship closer to the alien craft’s hull. On-screen, Felix spotted the hatch—an irregular break in the chitin-like plating. No airlock chamber, just a single seal.

“Amy,” Felix muttered, “what kind of ship doesn’t have an airlock?”

Amy, dry as ever: “Out of everything, that’s what you’re questioning?”

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

The mechanical arm of the Fortuna unfurled, extending its universal docking tube—accordion-like segments adjusting until the tube pressed flush against the alien hatch with a soft thunk.

“Seal established,” Amy confirmed. “Equalizing atmosphere. Air is breathable. Lights are green.”

A heartbeat. Then a hiss of decompression. Pressure stabilized.

Felix’s heart pounded.

Amy tried one last time. “Felix. Seriously. You can still back out and contact the Imperium.”

Felix’s grin was unstoppable. “Absolutely not.”

The Nomad’s inner hatch slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a softly lit corridor. The architecture was strange—a fusion of metallic structure and something... organic. The walls pulsed faintly, a rhythmic thrum vibrating beneath his boots.

Then, there they were. Six figures. Felix’s eyes swept over them, his heart racing. His brain immediately began to catalog them.

The tall, crimson-skinned woman with curved horns and a captain’s bearing—Captain. Has to be.

The towering pale-skinned brute with tusks and no shirt, definitely not the guy I’ve been talking to. The two small ones, one with cropped blue hair and the other with green skin, long ears, and grease-stained clothes. Scrappers. Mechanics, maybe?

There was also the tall and elegant woman, who appeared surprisingly human in her robes and flowing golden hair, though Felix caught sight of her sharply pointed ears that spoke of a not entirely human lineage, something he was intimately familiar with. Unlike her companions, who’s reactions had ranged from enthusiastic to cautious, she seemed somehow distant, hardly looking at him. Felix wondered for just a moment what seemed to have her interest beyond the meeting happening here.

And finally—the lavender-skinned man with horns similar to the captain’s, but sharper features and a grin lined with familiarity, there was Paeris. It had to be. Same species as the captain, but the way he carried himself easily gave him away as the smoothly spoken charmer from the earlier conversation.

Five distinct, unknown species—except maybe the pointy-eared woman. The diversity alone made Felix’s head spin. It was more than he could’ve hoped for from first contact.

He struggled to keep his excitement contained, barely resisting the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet. His voice, warm and uncontainably thrilled, broke the silence:

“Well, hello there.”

The crew stared back. Crestia’s expression was cool, guarded—but not hostile. Fizz’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. Skrill’s grin stretched far too wide, displaying jagged yellowed teeth.

Paeris, stepped forward and spoke with theatrical ease, and a courteous bow “Captain Felix, may I introduce Captain Crestia of the Abyssal Nomad—and her crew.”

Felix, doing his best to match the formal vibe, offered his own awkward bow. “An honor. And—just to be clear—our whole ‘no spleen-eating’ agreement is still in place, right?”

Paeris chucked and returned the bow. “I assure you, your spleen is quite safe.”

Felix noticed various expressions, mostly of confusion or disgust from that comment, except from the small green one with the long ears that almost fell over laughing until the blue haired one smacked him on the back of the head. This was indeed an interesting crew.

The air between them felt thick with curiosity and uncertainty. Felix stood just inside the Abyssal Nomad’s corridor, hands visible and body language open—every instinct screaming don’t blow this.

His voice broke the tense silence: “So! I’m guessing the whole ‘only Paeris understands me’ thing is going to get old pretty fast, but I believe I have a solution.”

Crestia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What did he say?”

Paeris, arms crossed but clearly amused, replied smoothly in their tongue, “He’s discussing how we’re going to fix the fact that none of you understand a word he’s saying.”

Crestia’s gaze stayed locked on Felix, unreadable. “Interesting, does he have a spell that will let us understand one another?”

Paeris smirked faintly, looking at Felix. “Captain Crestia is... curious how you propose we can overcome the language barrier..”

Felix’s brows lifted. “That’s... actually a great question. I am actually curious how you and I can already communicate but nobody else can. Is it an implant or something?”

Paeris raised his wrist slightly, the runes catching the light. “A simple translation charm,” he explained with a light, almost theatrical nonchalance. “Rather convenient for… let’s say, diplomatic endeavors.” In truth there was nothing simple about the complex charm he had on his wrist and it had cost him three months of earnings.

Felix’s eyes sharpened. He examined the tattooed marking’s on the man's wrist, wondering if maybe by ‘charm” he meant some sort of embedded translation tech he hadn’t seen before. Again, a question for another time. “Yeah. Convenient is one word for it. But it’s not helping the rest of your crew, but I think I can fix that with something similar..”

Crestia’s eyes flicked to Paeris. “Well?”

Paeris, addressing her: “He says he has a way give the rest of you a translation charm of some sort..”

Crestia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “All of us? Now? Interesting. I don’t know that spell. And he is willing to cast this?”

Paeris relayed with a mild shrug, “It appears so.” Turning back to Felix Paeris nodded. “The captain says she would appreciate you sharing your translation skill with us.”

Felix smiled tightly. “Good thing I came prepared.”

He reached slowly into a side pouch, every move careful and deliberate. The crew stiffened slightly—Fizz’s hands hovered near a belt tool, and Stonebloom shifted his stance. Felix paused, holding up his empty other hand. “Easy. It’s not a weapon.”

With two fingers, he withdrew a small, sleek device—cylindrical, metallic, about the size of a handheld inhaler.

Paeris raised a brow. “And that is?”

Felix, careful to keep his tone level, “A translator delivery system. Breath-activated nanites. Inhale once, and in a few seconds... you’ll understand me.”

Crestia, who still only heard unintelligible language, crossed her arms and shot Paeris a sharp look. “What did he just say?”

Paeris, unable to resist a bit of flair, replied, “He says... he brought a device that can imbue us with the ability to communicate clearly with a breath by inhaling from that canister.”

Crestia’s eyes narrowed. “And we’re supposed to trust him to pump us full of something we can’t identify?”

Paeris’s grin was lazy. “That is the gist of it, yes.”

Felix, sensing the tension, raised the device to his mouth. “Look—” He pressed the activator. A soft hiss. He inhaled and exhaled. “—See? Totally harmless.”

Crestia’s eyes stayed cold. “He could be immune to its poison.”

Paeris, to Felix: “Captain Crestia suggests you may be poisoning us. Charming, no?”

Felix gave a wry smile. “Paranoia’s just good protocol during first contact. She’s not wrong to be cautious.”

Fizz’s eyes glinted. "Well we aren't going to get far just standing around letting Paeris do all the talking." Before Crestia could stop her—HSSS! Fizz took the device, inhaled deeply, and coughed. “—Pffahh!” She gagged. “Tastes like burnt metal! Yuck!”

Felix’s grin widened. “Yeah, they never fixed the taste.”

Fizz coughed again—but then paused. Her floppy ears twitched. Her eyes flicked to Felix. “...Wait. Wait.” She pointed at him, eyes going huge. “I… I can understand you!”

Her voice stumbled over the first few words, but then—smooth, natural, like he was speaking in her own tongue.

Felix beamed. “That’s the idea.”

Fizz spun around, wide-eyed. “Cres! This is incredible!"

Skrill, who had been watching like a predator eyeing a new kind of prey, snatched the device from Fizz’s hand without warning.

Hiss. Puff. Inhale. He froze. Blinked. Then his grin, wide and jagged, returned. “I... devour magic breath! You understand now?”

Felix paused. “Uh, well, sort of...”

Skrill’s eyes narrowed. “Word breath work! Skrill speak magic air!” He began bouncing from foot to foot excitedly, cackling with gravely laugher.

Felix, at a loss: “...What? Hmmm… you still like you are speaking strangely. Maybe a species compatibility issue…”

Paeris, shoulders shaking, said helpfully, “That’s just how he always talks I'm afraid. It is an odd affectation, but a choice on his part nonetheless.”

Felix cocked an eyebrow as he watched the giddy creature bounce. “So he just chooses to sound like that?”

Fizz, chuckled at her brother's enthusiasm for something that wasn't likely to get anyone killed. “Yup!”

Felix stared at Skrill for a long moment. The goblin looked up at him with a jagged grin and clacked his teeth together before letting out another fit of scraping laughter.

“...You’re terrifying.”

Skrill gave a grin that would crack a mirror “Thank you.”