First Contact: Anti-Scouts, #1

By Rei Rosenquist

Scouts shipper Jordy gets a weird assignment from his boss.

 

[MAKE FIRST CONTACT WITH THE POSTONI ON PLANET DERNEG]

 

But average-jo shippers don't go out on all-important first contact missions. So what's the deal?

Jordy doesn't want to find out, but he has no other choice.

The msision is set, so off into space he goes.

 

Will he make contact, or will he never be heard from again?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rei Rosenquist
• Release date: Feb 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201438623

Rei Rosenquist

Rei Rosenquist first remembers life as seen out the high window of a hotel balcony. Down below is a courtyard, swarms of brightly dressed tourists, the beach. The memory is nothing but a blue-green washed image. Warmth and sunlight. Here, they are three years old, and this is the beginning of a nomadic story-teller’s life. Over the years, they have traveled to many countries, engaged many peoples, picked up new habits, and learned new languages. But, some things never change. For them, these are stories, food service, and traveling. These three passions have bloomed from hobbies, studies, and jobs into a way of life. These days, Rei can be found in between Tokyo, Kailua, and Bellingham, Washington pouring beautiful latte art, baking off a batch of famous savory scones, and cozying up with a laptop to obsessively write mountains of dark speculative fiction. You can find Rei’s stories and blog at reirosenquist.com. You can also reach them via email at [e-mail] or connect via Facebook (Rei Rosenquist), Twitter (rylrosenquist) and Instagram (rylrosenquist).

Book preview

1

REI L'ASCHE15,751 words

234 AIOKOA ST.

KAILUA, HI 96734

[phone]

[e-mail]

FIRST CONTACT

Rei Rosenquist

---

A bell shrieked, marking the end of the day.

At the far end of the bunks' hallway, an automatic steel door rattled open. Harsh white lights came on, lighting up a small rectangular room. The beige walls looked worn and faded, as if they needed a day off. A thin shelf-like bed, flattened into an unsightly pancake, sat drenched in the syrup of unwashed flannel sheets. A warped foam pillow crammed in between wall and bed looked utterly forgotten. The room boasted no dresser because that's what jumper printers were for.

I dragged myself into my bunk, ready to fall sleep as soon as I touched down. I breathed in deep the smell of robot cleanliness. A relief from the acrid grease of the work floor. I flopped down against the ruined mattress and hit my spine.

Ow!

Once, this bed had been full and supportive. A comfort at the end of a long day. The lights overhead had been softer somehow. More inviting. The air, pregnant with the spicy smells of another human.

Not just any human.

Lyla. My love. Long gone.

When we first moved in together, the walls had been so new, so glossy and smooth that we could draw pictures on them. And so we did, every night. And each morning, we'd sweep our dreams away with the light flick of our wrists.

Like life was a story we could keep retelling.

We.

Now, this box was just a crash pad with only me in it. Jordy, the lonely, over-worked shipping guy who lived in a bunk that felt more like an escape pod than a home. Matte brown hair, greasy from neglect prickeld the nape of my neck. Rough stubble kept catching on the already snagged pillow case. My flat, sunken-in cheeks ached. Lips that once used to kiss so tenderly burned, cracked and chapped, from frowning all day at the shipping screens. I bet even my eyes were faded from stormy Earth-cloud grey like Lyla used to say. Now, brushed steel. Like everything else.

I twisted on my side, spine aching, feeling like a ghost in my own skin.

Some real strong man I was.

I didn't know about that, being either strong or a man. But anyway.

I needed rest, that was my problem. I was exhausted. A whole week of back-to-back doubles, sending shipments out for twelve hour stretches at a time, leaving one hour of down time on each side before my next shift kicked in. I couldn't even remember the last time I had a decent meal, let alone a whole eight hours of sleep.

I shut my eyes and tried to forget the sore spot in my back.

A bright blue light filled the room. I sat up, grumbling, and picked up the sharp-cornered, bottom-of-the-line rough steel handi-pad. As soon as I touched the screen, the audio self-activated.

Morning, Jordy. This mission is nothing you haven't seen before, Dreg, my superior officer, said in a chipper tone.

I grunted back.

Just like the Scouts Shipper's Manual says: No rest for the diligent.

If I was anything, I was hard working.

I opened the link Dreg had sent without delay and told the attached docs to load. As I waited, I ran my hand down my cheek. My fingers hit my wiry mustache, much longer than it should ever get. I cringed at my lack of self-care, moved my hand away, and focused in on the mission statement at hand.

Despite Dreg's reassurance, I'd never seen an assignment like this one.

[MAKE FIRST CONTACT WITH THE POSTONI ON PLANET DERNEG]

That was my mission statement.

First contact? With the what? On planet where the fuck?

I scanned the steps required of me. Suit up in my official blue jumpsuit, climb into a long distance travel pod with enough supplies to last me three-quarters of a light year, input travel coordinants, and keep an active (if not rudimentary) livefeed log open on my clunky, basic handi-pad communications and computing device.

Sure, I could do that. But.

I'd never heard of the Scouts, a universe-wide collective of diplomatic ambassadors before anything else, ever sending out a scrap like me in this capacity. First Rank Ambassadors like Dreg, or Council Ambassadors the likes of Dreg's superiors, yes. But an average delivery/service level shipper?

Never.

But there it was, in all caps, right before my eyes. As if Dreg knew I wouldn't buy into this mission in any old normal font.

I began drafting an insta.mail response which would appear on Dreg's screen as soon as I hit [complete] on my own, despite the thousands of light years between us. All thanks to alien technology, which had come to the