Introduce Yourself!

“SHIFT, you stupid god damn sonofa OW!”

Biting down on his knuckle helped the pain, needing to refocus before he could continue with his repair. Of course, it didn’t help that the tools he was using were almost as old as the panel he was working on. The rust had gotten so thick that he had been straining to shift the heavy nut when his screwdriver slipped and ripped the skin of his braced hand. Looking down at the injury, Ren made a face at the tiny scrapes of skin that had to fade from a sharp throb, the sensation slowly coming back under control. It wasn’t even bleeding, so he swallowed the feeling and kept working.

It took chipping at the rust to finally loosen the final nut, letting the cover come loose at last. He pulled it off and tossed it over his shoulder casually, but as the metal sheet was as weightless as everything else on the ship at that moment, it didn’t end up clanging into the bulkhead for a few minutes. Ren worked quickly in spite of a few sparks as the wires argued with his repairs, knowing that he was right and that the old ship was just on its last legs. He really shouldn’t have bought it… being affordable should have been the biggest red flag. But he wasn’t about to die only a few hours from the nearest port. So with a few more tweaks, twisting wires together and pushing power lines back into place, he flipped the switch and was quickly rewarded with the sudden hum of the gravity working again.

Less than a minute later, he woke up, head throbbing.

The “ow” this time was silent but prolonged as his hands went to his head, putting pressure where his skull had collided with the deck. He looked around in bewilderment, until he saw the mattress a good two meters from where he had tied it down… evidently, he had done a poor job of it. Why were the gravity controls up in the ceiling, anyway? “Stupid engineers…” he muttered as soon as he could sit up, stretching and rubbing at all of the new sore spots the crash landing had given him. Oh, how his grandpa would laugh to have seen that… then again, the ship probably wouldn’t have dared so much as creak with the old mechanic on board. The man had tried to teach Ren everything he knew, but fortunately enough had stuck that he could at least save his own skin.

With another rub at his head, waiting for the feeling to pass, Ren finally got up to head into the cockpit, flipping switches and bringing up screens to read. His repairs had worked; now, to get somewhere with more oxygen than his little ship…

---

The port master was a large gentleman, round up and down from the puffed up cheeks through to the warty, mottled tentacles. Six mobile eyes watched the ship dock warily, as if expecting it to explode at any moment given how much rattling could be seen as it flew in. Finally, it settled into place, one outer panel falling off as it bumped against the airlock. The artificial gravity inside the space dock meant the metal went skittering down instead of floating off, the clanging bounces audible even in his office.

With a few sighs and huffs, the Blaksprutte slid out of his office and into the main corridor to confront the new arrival, unfazed by the unusual mix he saw walking all too casually from the near wreckage. A young human, tall for the species and leanly built, fair skin and form fitting clothes aside from the heavy jacket slung over one arm… and vivid blue hair, unkempt save for the one thin braid that fell just in front of his right shoulder. The human was busy dusting off the coat and fiddling with one relatively small bag, blissfully ignorant that he was being watched, which was good. Even more striking than the hair was the massive burn mark that spread across the front of his left shoulder all the way up to his neck. Clearly, it was usually hidden in the jacket, but with the cut of his shirt it was painfully obvious. But the mark was also obviously old, and the ship wasn’t on fire.

Yet, the port master reminded himself as the machine suddenly let out a spark, making both of them jump.

It was this joint reaction that finally alerted the human to the other’s presence, pausing in his step even as his gaze shifted up, initially wary before becoming tense with uncertainty as their eyes met and held.

But then, the port master was old enough to recognize Av’tek eyes when he saw them. They were sized for a human, but they were still distinctively metallic, a glittering silver that was too alive to be robotic. He knew better than to assume they were implants. HIs calculating gaze just wasn’t as good at hiding his detailed studies, nor the pause of recognition.

The tension in the human was understandable, obviously startled by the identification of his heritage through his eyes, so the Blaksprutte’s study shifted to the ship instead, still able to feel the worried stare. “Hmph. I hope you’re not planning on flying out again without repairs,” he grunted, tutting at the condition of the ship behind the human. The human visibly relaxed at the shift in topic, glancing back over his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s flying out again any time soon,” he replied easily enough, able to control his voice in spite of his earlier fear. But his cockiness earned another huffy tut. “I’m amazed you were able to get it to fly in at all, nevermind so smoothly. What a horrible way to treat such a valuable antique!” he complained, moving over to study the ship outside the hallway’s window, clearly assessing what he would do with such a craft.

“Valuable?” the human echoed, suddenly amused, but the port master caught the edge to his tone, looking over at him. With a quirk of his lips, a roguish, crooked smile, the human looked over the much larger green figure, then back to the ship. “Enough to trade for the parking fee?”

The Blaksprutte immediately shifted and tutted as if insulted or outraged, but the crooked smile only deepened at the completely flustered reaction. “I, I couldn’t, that ship’s worth more than that!” he finally managed back in basic, but he was clearly tempted. The human laughed, shaking his head.

“I got it mostly broken for a dime, and found out I’m definitely better suited to flying than restoring. You’d be doing me a favor by taking it off my hands.” The port master shifted all of his coils again, muttering to himself as his eyes kept darting between the pilot and ship, clearly torn but finally giving in with a sigh, all of his shoulders sagging. This was not a normal transaction…

The human laughed, tossing over the key with an easy swing before setting the bag down long enough to sort out the jacket, walking on as if a weight had been lifted. The port master watched him walk away, wondering how much of the generosity was borne from a real need. Could he have paid for parking? He wasn’t carrying many possessions, perhaps that was all he had to trade… or maybe the ship really was enough of a relic that it was too expensive to restore.

Or had it been because he hadn’t been betrayed? Obviously the Av’tek side of him was recognized, but not so much as mentioned as a commodity. For those at risk of being paralyzed by mere touch, such protection was valued. With another tut and mutter to himself, the port master began back towards his office, already trying to decide which mechanic to take the ship in order to make it usable again.

And, of course, which was the least likely to try and swindle him in the process.

---

Dim lights, the heavy smell of alcohol wafting in the air, mixing with the sweaty, mechanical scents from a dozen different worlds… ah, nothing quite like a space station’s bar. Ren walked with purpose, calmer for the Blaksprutte’s response to him. Had the port master been human, it might have been quite a different matter. HIs eyes always managed to catch attention, but it was easy to play at them being implants, an artificial aesthetic “like” his hair. Especially in less civilized areas, such modifications were fairly commonplace, if often dangerous to acquire.

About half of the people who were in the bar had such modifications, some in their skin, some replacing eyes or limbs, and not always with scars showing that the upgrades were necessary. Several eyes, both natural and not, watched the newcomer walk in, heading confidently to the counter to order. Ren didn’t have a lot of money on him, but he was good at saving, and so easily paid for his food and drink, the droid whizzing off to serve an already pulled drink it had worked on with two of its six available arms.

As he waited, Ren stretched his arms forward, rolling his neck around to get rid of some of the stiffness his earlier crash had caused. He did this in his own space claimed by his seat, so feeling a shoulder shove into his back was less than expected, earning a grunt that swallowed up a whimper. The shock of sudden contact was only dampened by being through his coat, feeling tingling going all the way down to his fingers from the shock. Shakily, Ren swallowed hard, holding his breath until he could regain control, hands steady, straightening up and turning to look at the rude creature who had not so innocently run into him. It was a Lutan, and a large one, a good foot taller had Ren been standing, covered in shaggy hair and grinning with sharp teeth. The implication of the “accident” was clear; I want your chair. Nevermind the open spaces elsewhere, but the pilot was one of the few on his own. And the Lutan weren’t exactly known for their diplomacy.

Ren’s gaze moved up and down the Lutan, weighing his options and carefully considering the space he had moved into. Then, of all things, he sighed and turned back in his seat, not even asking for an apology for the unwarranted hit. There was a confidence in his movements that suggested he was able to fight, but that he felt it wasn’t worth his time. This earned him a sharp growl from the prideful alien, who was more than willing to strike first with an open, claw tipped hand.

Before the fight could go anywhere, however, a firm hand grabbed the arm about to slice into Ren’s back. Watching in the reflection behind the bar, Ren watched with a barely controlled smirk as the port constable began bodily hauling the struggling, growling alien out, the droid’s impassive voice reading rights even as the scene earned sneering laughs and hoots from the others at the bar.

If Ren hadn’t seen the machine when walking in, he might have avoided being so openly defiant with the Lutan. He would easily have been ripped to shreds by those massive claws. Ren could fight, but there was no surviving a Lutan without any armor or weapons. And one good hit might be enough to paralyze him anyway. But he’d been safe, and still was as another robot began making a round through the shop, maintaining peace on the old space station.

This was why it was surprising for Ren to hear someone come up behind him not long after. Ren pretended not to notice as the droid had come back with his drink at the same time, but he could see enough of a reflection to guess what was behind him. Human, an older male by the greying beard, dressed like a middle-class business owner. Potentially problematic… The stranger took a seat, leaning casually on the counter and silently taking in Ren’s unusual coloring. The pilot managed to keep his twitch from the study down, able to guess that the man was a “purist” - one who thought that the only thing that was acceptable was what was natural for his own kind. They came in many forms and species, but they were all a pain in the ass to deal with.

Ren stared ahead calmly even as he took a long swallow from his cup, as if waiting to be left alone. Finally the man spoke, Ren licking his lips clean as he continued to not look at his unwanted companion.

“Pretty gutsy attitude back there with the mutt,” the man began, taking a quick drink from his own glass. Again, Ren only just managed to control the twitch at the deep xenophobic tone, but he knew why he was being approached. Aside from his coloring, Ren passed as human, and in the depths of space like this with fewer humans to aliens, crews of all-humans were desperate to recruit any others they saw as like them. If only they knew…

Then again, anyone knowing meant he was in danger, so Ren knew better than to imagine too far as to what would happen.

“And?” Ren finally asked the man, looking over at him with only a hint of annoyance at being disturbed. He had a pretty good idea as to what was wanted, but he was eager to skip the alien-bashing when possible. The man laughed, putting a hand out. “Captain Mike Carver of the Barracuda,” he introduced himself, Ren having to force himself to take the offered hand. He might be a xenophobic bastard… but he was also more likely to pay better just to keep another “human” on his crew. “Ren Ayers, pilot,” he replied easily enough, immediately earning a big smile. “How did you know I was looking for a pilot?” he asked, leaning in a little.

“I need a pilot to replace my current one. Man can navigate a star field blindfolded, but he’s gettin’ slow in the reflexes, y’know? And you’ve got spunk, kid, just what’s needed in a pilot! I pay well, job conditions are pretty damn good for this hellhole in space… and you won’t have to deal with any scumbags.”

Ren just barely caught the twitch this time, knowing exactly what was meant by scumbag. His buoyed mood from the port master’s silent support had cratered completely, but… it was a job. “First payment up front. No contract,” Ren quickly argued, the captain looking surprised at the clarification. Then, with a sudden and knowing smile that made Ren’s skin crawl, he chuckled and mockingly toasted Ren with his drink. “Sure, no contract. You can leave whenever ya want to.” Ren nodded, but was already questioning his choice. As if he’d ever even consider…! With an asshole personality like that? Not to mention the dirty hands and overall slime ball aura…

So this was a guy who went for modifications, then. Ren would have to make sure to keep his distance; there was little doubt the man wouldn’t take advantage if it was presented, even if only to put another alien in its place.

The droid returned at last with his food, Ren taking it before considering Carver again. His words only deepened the man's smile. “Which dock were you in?”

---

Carver hadn’t been just looking for a pilot. Seemed half his crew was new, getting lost on the large cargo ship all too easily and being barked at to go the other way. At least the ship was similar enough for the cockpit to be in the same place, so it was only trying to find his quarters that Ren got lost himself. One quiet figure, who seemed more speechless at his hair than any had before, pointed the way without making a pass, marking him as one that was safe to keep his back to.

That didn’t hold true for two other apparent long-time crew members, who eyed him from down other hallways as he went along.

This was why, a few hours later when the ship was out of the space station and well on route, Ren set the auto pilot and left the slightly yet clearly deranged navigator alone up there. The man had been gibbering, not from age so much as some drug that he insisted on holding onto tightly, if the glowing vial was any indication. At least the crew had kept to themselves, even the newbies didn’t seem interested in the pilot, only in moving the cargo and figuring out where the engines were. It was an easy enough job, and he had a decent payment in his pocket now for this first trip out to deliver orders from a dozen different companies and sellers.

Pah. Some job… he got his own little cabin, which was lucky since it locked. Not that he trusted the captain to not have a master key anyway, but there was enough to barricade the door against any of the crew if needed. This was a stupid idea, even Ren had to admit, but he had to deal with what was now.

God, though, he needed a smoke… Ren noted the need for a drug with irony as he made his way around, less looking for a specific place so much as a lonely one. Finally he found it in one of the larger cargo areas. There were boxes, ships, barrels and some rather unidentifiable forms under tarps throughout the massive space, held in place by cords on powered-down palettes to keep them from tipping over. This was one of the first cargo spaces to be filled, so it was already shut down, only a few running lights illuminating the dark forms and enhancing the shadows. Ren moved towards a back corner as quietly as he could, checking over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed him. Then, settling into what felt like a soft, oversized sofa with a thick protective drape over it, he lit up a cigarette. Not the best thing to light up when on a space ship, he knew, especially around unknown items that might be flammable. But he was fast, and if something tried to spark he’d have it out easy enough, he reasoned.

So he slid the arms off his jacket, once more revealing the burn mark, and settled back in, lazily watching the smoke circle over him. The cool air in the space felt good after wearing the coat so long in a cramped, warm cockpit, and rather than chill him it calmed him, letting his eyes close as he took another breath in, letting his visible breath out slowly.