Starwind (Working Title)

Beginnings

To the chagrin of my fellow universe dwellers, the one thing to behold for any sight seer is not the exploding supernovas, the voracious black holes, or the surreal nebulas—it is in fact the massive drifting colony near the edge of the Milky Way: the shopping mall at the end of the galaxy.  Though I may say this in partial jest, one thing should be realized, there is a lot (and I do not kid you a lot) of space out there.  Eventually it all blends together, like a single note trying to form an entire song, it might sound good at first, but after a while it will come to pass as just more noise.  I have a name by the way, but it's not important.  You can call me Oma, I'm a Lacquian, a type of alien in the Milky Way Galaxy, and I'm about to go shopping.

            As you approach the colony, Ischium as it's called, your main screen will light up with a  green message, telling you to download their parking software, and agree to their terms and conditions (not that I always read them, they hardly ever change).  You have to accept all of it otherwise you can't get in, and it's not the kind of place you want to force yourself into.  It wouldn't even be easy to get inside otherwise.  When viewed from outside, the whole colony looks like a massive metallic insect hive floating adrift a lurid nebula with thousands, maybe tens of thousands of ships flying in and out simultaneously from the outer layer, which consists entirely of parking garages.  The Parking software will then sort you into the queue for spaces as you coast around in a while around the hive.  When your screen goes green, you're given a designated parking space, with a marker of how where it is and how far it is away.  As sophisticated and convenient as it is, this does not stop the other occasional eager pilots from darting and dashing to compete for the same spot, followed by the inevitable fender bender and exchange of insults.   Once my screen goes green, I follow it down a parking space in little disc-shaped ship like a Pakvarian Sky-Fly on the leaf of a branch of a massive tree.  Before I'm allowed to land, a squad of armed guards wait outside the small port as the scanners does their full interior scan, which takes a few long seconds or so.  Inside they'll find me, my plants, and my little helper drone, I call him Sirius, and he's a talker. 

My ship, the Arbitus, has just made a long haul from one edge of a system to the edge of the galaxy just outside jurisdiction of the Galactic Judciaste, and I'm a little groggy and eager to stretch my legs to say the least.  It's a little cramped, for sure.  There's basically only a cockpit and a sleeping area down below the said cockpit.  Besides that I keep small patches of gardens lying about to crawl and climb about underneath the artificial light, so I'm not technically alone on this ship.  Aside from that she runs pretty efficient and handles pretty well all the maneuvers I need when it really matters the most, which really comes in handy in my line of work.  Some call it bounty hunting, salvaging, hired operating, or mercenary work, but it really depends on your character, in my opinion at least. 

            Look down upon it as you might, my line of work has seen some rapid expansion in the last few decades, although the future remains uncertain.  I work hard for my winnings, which helps me sleep at night, and to say there isn't a part of me that enjoys what I do would be a disservice to my field.  Tracking down criminals and taking them to meet long waited justice brings a grin to my face, hidden underneath my shawl and hood of course, I keep my appearances somewhat personal.  I also do a variety of other services: locating, protection, imports, exports, and a few little morally gray subjects, but again, it all follows your character, and I'm fine with who I am. 

            Before I finally died of old age, the interior scanners finally finished and I was allowed to finally to dock.  The scanners have fed information to my screen saying that they have detected weapons onboard, and if I had read the Terms and Conditions (like I should have), I'd know I have to leave them on my ship or pay a certain penalty.  I'll give you a hint: it's death.  So I do the sensible thing, I huff and puff, curse out loud and then finally submit to their deal.  It's just not worth it.  You can buy weapons on Ischium, you can even test them, but only under strict watch, and all purchases are sent directly to your ship upon your exit.  Luckily they have a good return policy.  I've heard of people trying to rob weapon stores within and then try to heist them, but to date that has never worked out.  Aside from their armed guards, they have countless of screens that can monitor you and coordinate with all levels and squadrons of security with formulas most people can barely comprehend.  Whoever tested them more than likely ended up as a dark stain on the sidewalk somewhere and mopped up seconds after. 

            The platform bay drops down with me on it and I finally get that stretch I've been waiting for.  I can hear everything creaking and cracking from all the time spent in a sleep while my computer has been navigating for me, Orion I call him, such a helper.  Good thing I brought him along with me on my Proxy.  I take handfuls of my hair and tie it up so I can pull my hood up over it all.  You'd think that my job would call for me getting it cut.  I thought so too at first, but considering how much of a literal pain it is to cut Lacquian hair, it's much easier to have let it grow out to tie it off.  Lacquian hair is different from those of other species.  For one, it's much thicker, like cable wires thick, and heavier to boot.  Another thing is that we also carry nerve endings in it, so cutting it isn't quite as simple for us.  I'm not sure what our evolution was thinking when it made us that way, but I'm rather fond of it. 

            I give the guards curt nods as I walk past them, but they invoke no emotion.  Whatever, I should be more like that anyway.  The end of the landing bay, or branch as I like to call it, has a single large pod that packs everyone in to lead them into the core of the colony.  I unfortunately don't get the pod to myself, and have to wait for stragglers to finally catch up with us before it drives itself into the dark tunnel.  Of course, someone decides to sit next to me, a Piscus by the looks of it.  They're similar to us Lacquians, except they tend to wear heavy layers of garments that function also like breathing apparatus, and they typically tend to look a bit more brittle than us too.     It annoys me, and I let it go, but I know what I'll do if he gets a little courageous when it gets dark in the tunnel.  I instinctively adjust my shawl and hood to cover more of myself.  I decide to sit and wait, looking off in another direction and pull as I watch in the peripheral. 

            The pod shakes, and locks into place on its track.  Everyone takes their seats (with some people dashing to make it in time) before the glass roof folds over the sides and the pod takes off, within seconds it plunges headlong into the corridor of darkness with all but a gentle hum on the way.  I'm staring out into oblivion now, and that's when I feel something on my knee, could have been accidental.  I look down amidst the few and far between tunnel lights to see the Piscus's hands on his lap, his faces staring down at his bare two digit feet.  I pretend to look back out.  It isn't too long before then what feels like a brushing motion higher on my leg.  I turn to look at the Piscus, he's looking at his feet again, but I continue to stare at him until he can feel it and looks into my eyes with a timid look on his face and he tries to give a forced stranger grin.  I hold my gaze.  He swallows his grin and nods, looking back down to his feet once more.  It takes a long while and I can see the end of the tunnel in sight.  It's the lobby that shines like a beacon in the middle of a storm.  The pod pulls into the station, and it relaxes its grip on the tracks allowing the little walkway to extend onto the platform and the glass roof pulls back.  It's when everyone starts to stand up that I feel the hand firmly grab my inner thigh, his hand placed strategically as if to pass it off as needing to lift himself out of his seat. 

            As the people cluster out of the pod no one seems to notice me.  Everyone exits the pod together save for the Piscus, who decides that he needs a nap and rides the pod back to the parking garage.  Someone looks to me, ostensibly placing that I was the one sitting next to him.  "What's wrong with him" he asks. 

            "Sleeping disorder" I answer without looking from under my hood.  "He told me not to wake him if he nods off, it imbalances his hormones apparently".

            "Ahh" he acknowledges.  "Pitiful shame."

            "Yup" I say as the door slides open, allowing us to entire the utopia beyond. 

            "Well then" he says, with a smile.  "Have a nice day". 

            "Why thank you" I respond.  "You too."  What a nice man, I think to myself, and I take my first steps in.  "Shopping time".