[ WP ] You represent Humanity . You 're also very , very wasted . Describe First Contact .

Jameson in a cold glass always made the shuttle feel less empty. 
 
 Policy could be damned: If you were a solo-pilot on deep cruise, all it took was one long stare out the window before the dread would be setting in. Like ice in a glass, it did n't take long. Even the best of pilots would start to feel it, creeping along their spine, over their bones. 
 
 That's where the whiskey came into play. 
 
 Whiskey and holo-vids of home. Nothing else like those two things when you're out in the black, with a whole lot' of nothing, far as the eyes can see- and then plenty farther still. John settled into his seat with the windows on reflective tint and just tried to forget about all that. Two more weeks of monitoring, then one day of port-connections and paperwork for the supply run on Outpost-Delta. The Credits for this haul were worth the time put in, but none of that really mattered in the middle of a trip. 
 
 The glass in his hands swirled with cold stones; tiny non-standard objects like this could be smuggled along as personal artifacts when it came to planetary customs. Long as it fit in his luggage and did n't set off any hazard warnings, he could usually get it through the ship's entry sensors. The fact that this was an old rig only helped his case. 
 
 `` Christ... I hate this.'' 
 
 He could moan and groan all he wanted about the job when he was on his own, but that did n't change the fact that he was actual light-years from another living soul. Talking to himself was a sign of madness, but damned if he had n't been in the habit since his second year. 
 
 John's voice echoed off the wide walls of the main cabin. It was a large room that doubled as an observatory for the bottom and top of the ship with thick domed windows of heavy glass. From the table at its center he could idly stare through each, if he felt the urge to look up from his glass. Unlike the side windows, those did n't have much in the way of reflective tint, or blackout options. In his current state, John had long since decided that he'd rather just *not. * 
 
 A soft ping issued from the far front of the shuttle, prompting him to rise, unsteady even in the lesser gravity. He'd been saving the bottle, but this rotation had been more than long enough when tied to the others before it, and John had finally taken the liberty of cracking the seal. Moderation had not been much of a factor after that. 
 
 With slow and practice steps, he half jumped, half glided towards the front cabin of the barge, thick arms of well practiced muscle pulling his frame into the soft cushion of the rig's piloting seat. As his fingers traced the interface, holographic projections spun to life- one single indicator among them blinking bright red among calm green and blue. 
 
 Carefully he selected the log, eyes scanning through the subtle haze of alcohol. The long range scanner had found something identifying outside of the expected spectrum of space-debris. That was unusual. 
 
 More than usual, on a route like this one- standard and well traveled, it was almost unheard of. In the seven years John had been flying this rig, he'd only had one other encounter, and that had quickly been identified as a lost insulation flashing from a government shuttle. Within moments the shipboard AI had linked the piece, scanned number, and traced it to a comet collision three years prior. 
 
 Currently though, the Shipboard AI was n't linking this particular debris to anything. In fact, it was already giving up and flashing several more protocols- several of which were much more alarming. 
 
 * < Object Unidentified. > * 
 
 * < Object Trajectory Adjusting - Abnormalities Detected > * 
 
 * < Object Signalling - Nonstandard communication frequencies > * 
 
 John did his best to follow, eyes blinking as he reread the messages, dragging each one aside as it appeared. From the HUD screen of the barge controls, no errors on the Ship AI were flagging. This was real. 
 
 * < Adjusting to confirm Nonstandard communication frequencies > * 
 
 An image began to form up along the front of his screen, holographic projection settling into the glass of the front console to a more calming two dimensional screen as static began to buzz through in white snow and echoes. A call line, opened and pending. Reality spun as the glass in his left hand settled with quiet clinking, cold stones and liquid rocking beneath a nervous grip. 
 
 * < Audio incoming. Translation logic received. Processing. > * 
 
 `` Shit...'' John muttered again, taking a final swig to polish what was left of the glass before setting it to rest in its holder beneath the armrest. An image began to form in greater quality, AI-translated audio settling over a rough monotone, first garbled static, and then a language he could n't understand. Slowly it repeated as John leaned forward, hands meeting as elbows settled on the flat counter of controls before him. 
 
 The room was spinning. Slowly the Audio began to adjust, language shifting into words he could understand. The image grew to greater clarity upon the screen. 
 
 *'' Greetings Unidentified Vessel. You are being hailed by Shipmaster Ho'Nal of the Trader's Guild, A Vessel beneath the protection by The Union of Intelligent Life. `` * A pair of pure green eyes stared over from a face of pale blue, and shoulders of thick reflective cloth. *'' Do you receive. `` * 
 
 John's eyes widened as he stared across the screen. The AI was already opening a return line, projecting his own. The creature speaking on the screen straightened their posture, as John was certain he saw a tail fling into view as its own eyes widened. John felt his thoughts tangle up as the situation swept a chill down his spine, lucidity and fresh dose of immediate urgency slamming against his mind. 
 
 He opened his mouth, tongue tight against his teeth, uncertainty pulsing through his veins. An alien, watching, staring right at him- behind the screen he could see another ship- unlike anything he had ever seen floating towards his own. Heavily glow of ion-pulses shifting its trajectory to fall in line with his own. These words that he spoke would go down in history, their momentous significance would be immortalized for years upon years to come. 
 
 All this he knew, and yet as he tried to speak, John found himself saying the only thing he could force from his lips. 
 
 `` Howdy.''
