Tales of Catan: Contact (a Starfarers fan fic)

The year is 2400 AD and the humans of the United Colonies of Catan have discovered faster than light travel. In the deep reaches of space the Starcrosser brothers man a ship, the Century Three, full of trade goods on their way to an alien outpost...

"We're dropping out of Space Jump, Tom. Cut the jump engines."

"Check, switching to sub-light thrusters," Tom flicked a few switches and the hum and whir of the ship's jump drive ceased. "Sub-light thrusters at 100%. Nice jump Mark, the smoothest yet."

"Nothing to it. The jump vectors you calculated were ace," Mark said giving Tom a pat on the shoulder.

The two brothers were quite possibly the best civilian pilots the United Colonies of Catan ever produced. It was one of the reasons why they had been granted first trade rights with The Scientists. The brothers had flown hundreds of successful trade missions through asteroid belts, and pirate held systems.

Mark pointed out the viewport, "There it is Tom, Scientist Outpost Delta, one hundred thousand kilometers ahead. That's our history out there my friend. First contact with an alien race."

'First contact' probably wasn't the right term to use. A Starship from the United Colony Navy had made contact with the race called The Scientists seven months ago. The United Colony High Council had been investigating possible relations with them since. Truth betold, this was the first civilian contact with The Scientists.

"Man this is hot. I'm stoked." Tom said, peering over the cockpits controls.

"Hot? What are you talking about?"

"Don't you get it, Mark? we're going to pick up so many chicks when we get back home. After this deal we'll be all sexy space adventurer-ish. It won't even be fair." Tom said in a matter-of-fact way.

Mark shook his head. "Yes, great. Would please you pay attention and do your job? The Com light is going off like a Christmas tree."

Tom switched on the Com. "Welcome to the Delta System, Century Three. This is Scientist Outpost Delta. We're sending you approach vectors for the docking ring."

"This is Mark Starcrosser of the Century Three. The transmission was recieved. Thank you Outpost Delta, we'll be docking shortly."

Tom switched off the com. "I'm just saying that the ladies are going to flock to us, thats all. But hey! You know what just occured to me? How can we trust them?"

"The ladies?"

"The aliens, I mean."

"What?"

"How do I really know that aliens are trustworthy?"

Mark blinked hard, as if to process the confusion. "How do the aliens know you're trustworthy?"

"Because I'm not an alien."

"You're an alien to them."

"I'm not an alien. They're aliens, Mark. Martians from outer space. We really don't have any idea what they might be up to. We could be walking into some sort of human body harvest trap"

"You, quite obviously, have no idea what you're talking about so I'm going to clue you in. First things first, you're paranoid bordering on paranoid delusional. Second, the High Council back home has been checking these guys out for months now. They say that we're safe. Lastly, martians are from Mars, dick. Now if you'll cut this crap out we can get back to making history."

Tom reviewed the controls once more and then leaned back in his seat. "Listen, I'm not saying they ARE evil alien types. I'm just saying that they COULD BE evil alien types...probably...maybe."

"Just like probably and maybe you're completely out to lunch?" Mark said still staring out at the space station.

"Shut up."

"Exactly."

"Why do you always have to call me names?" Tom furrowed his brow and sulked into his chair.

"Why do YOU always have to be like this?" Mark switched on the Auto-Pilot and turned to his brother.

"Like what?"

"Like what!? Like this!"

"You're not making any sense."

"I'm not making any sense? Me?" Mark pointed his finger. "You're the one constantly going off about, Space Pirates, or shady merchants, or monster aliens trying to suck out your brains. And quite frankly, I don't see why anybody, or any THING for that matter, would have an interest in your empty star addled brain. But the worst part about it all, by far, when you're done your lunatic tyraid you realize that everyone around you thinks your either stupid or crazy. Thats when you pout."

"I don't pout." Tom pouted in his chair.

"Yes you do! Look! Look! You're doing it right now!" Mark threw his arms in the air. "We're supposed to be reknowned intergalactic starfarers and you're sitting there wearing a skirt talking about how I hurt you're feelings!"

"Whaddya mean 'skirt'? Are you implying that I'm some sort of sissy?" Tom cocked an eyebrow at his brother.

"No, Genius, I'm implying that you're the manliest man to ever man the ma- YES, I"M CALLING YOU A SISSY!"

"Hey! Just because I have feelings doesn't make me a sissy!" Tom turned away from his brother. "Whatever, you're still mad that Angella Starks chose me to go to Prom with her and not you," He said glancing over his shoulder to see his brothers reaction.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not cool, man. Not cool." Exactly the reaction Tom wanted to see.

"Ooooh, now who's wearing the skirt? C'mon Mark that was ten years ago! Get over it!"

"Hey man, that doesn't have to do with any of this. You know that still hurts too. I was crazy about that girl, dammit."

"Well there you go. You've got feelings too, Intergalactic Starfarer Mark. Remember that next time you dump on mine."

"Fine."

"Fine." Tom shrugged, crossed his arms, and looked out the viewport. "Mark, you're lucky we're going to get all the ladies when we get back home. You're dire need of a blo-"

"Don't say it. So help me God, Tom. Don't say it."

"Alright, then. Silence is golden."

"Silence is golden."

The cockpit began to beep as lights and monitors began to flash indicating the Automated Docking Procedure had been initiated. The Scientist docking stations were very advanced and required little effort on the part of the pilot. Both brothers reviewed the controls eagerly. Mark and Tom had simulated the dock many times before. If all the modifications they had made were correct all they really had to do was let the computers take over once they were in range.

"You're sure the modifications are to spec?" Mark asked as he poured over the monitors.

"Relax. You should be more worried about getting alien slime on you when you shake hands with them. That is, if they even have hands. How, exactly, do you shake hands with someone who doesn't have hands?" Tom joked pouring over his monitors.

Mark looked up at his brother. "You're killing me. You know that, right?"

Just then the ship shook slightly as the docking clamps locked on.

"Easy girl..." Both brothers said in unison.

Tom looked around, "We're fine. I think." There was a loud hiss - the airlock seals were matching. "Like I said, relax."

The modifications they had made to the ship were correct. All across the airlock control pannel lights were turning from red to green. This was it, time for the big show. They walked tall to the nearby airlock, chest out, ready to shake hands and conduct the first civilian human interspecial trade deal. A strangely accented voice came over the ships intercom, "Welcome to Scientist Outpost Delta, Century Three. Pressurization of the airlock is complete. You may come aboard."

"I wonder if the space alien chicks are hot."

Mark rolled his eyes, "I don't know, Tom. I guess we'll just have to find out."