This scene picks up from New Neighbors…
It’s about this time that another visitor arrives, approaching from behind Galactix. A Nall, from appearances, dressed in a pair of simple pants, a white shirt, and a black vest covered with pockets containing anything from small tools to writing implements. Perched over his eyes are a pair of goggles ready to be pulled into place at a moment’s notice. Stopping behind the trio, he nods to Galactix.
“All sssystems operational. Firing the weapon put a ssstrain on the conduitsss but they held up,” he says, before turning his attention to Rake and Sefra, nodding.
Galactix nods. “Ah, thank you, my friend.” He then turns to Rake and Sefra to introduce the newcomer. “Allow me to introduce Throk of House Vril, my chief systems engineer. Quite helpful in keeping this old ship in running order, let me tell you.”
“Hey,” Rake replies to the engineer. “Welcome aboard Iron’s End.” He notes to Galactix, “Nice to have someone around to make those repairs. We’ve been struggling on that front.”
“Perhapsss I can be of sssome assssitance here?” Throk inquires. “The scanssss ssshow your ssstation took quite a hit.”
“Sefra, daughter of Arya.” The Lyiri looks around, ear twitching. “She thinks the Marshal may know more there. All she did was hold metal in place. She really knows only enough about engineering to know how not to mess up fixing weapons and armor with those parts.”
“Yeah, Iron’s End looks like it got chewed up pretty good,” Rake agrees. “We’ve stopped the leaky life support system, and there’s a smart kid working on bringing repair drones back online that can fix the hull, but we might need a lot more hands helping with the support structure damaged when the Rustborn crashed into us.”
“Yesss… I’ve been ssstudying what I have been able to determine of the ssstation layout from our ssscans,” Throk says. “I may have some ideasss. These… Russstborn. From what I could sssee, they favor firepower over aesssthetics. My brother, Thruk, has maintained what I consssider to be the sssuccessor to the Clawed Fissst Fleet, and leads our bessst warriors. I am sssure he will be eager to meet them.” He then looks to Sefra, and his tongue lolls out a bit—a version of a grin. “Any knowledge can be of ussse.”
“She sees. She will try to help. She will just need direction,” Sefra says with a short nod.
“I’d be happy to work out an arrangement with your brother and his warriors to develop some defensive protocols,” Rake says. He muses thoughtfully for a moment, then adds, “If you want to help with repairs, just run it by Patch. She mainly runs the Shambles—our marketplace—but she also coordinates maintenance and engineering overall for the station.”
“Of coursssse,” Throk says. “I will coordinate my efforts with her. I mussst warn you. My brother isss a bit… eccentric.”
“Oh?” Rake raises his eyebrows. “How so?”
“The Clawed Fisssst Fleet back in the day was a powerful force, and they had a reputation,” Throk says. “Their warriorsss were known for building rather large egossss… and Thruk is no exception.”
“Ah, great,” Rake replies. “I appreciate the heads-up. In return, I’ll just let you know that Patch… well, she’s also a Nall, but not cut from the same cloth as your brother. Tread carefully when you meet her. I don’t expect she’ll be belligerent, but she might come off cold.”
Throk nods. “Noted. I’m sssure we can find common ground.”
Sefra tilts her head side to side, listening. “Patch seems like she would.”
“Well,” Rake says, “you can find her in the Shambles. If you’ll excuse me, I am starving after our little adventure with the Rustborn.” He nods to Throk and proceeds toward the station’s social hub and the waiting tavern.
“Onward to the Sssshamblesss it isss,” Throk says, and makes his way toward the marketplace to find Patch.
“She will follow you, if that’s alright,” Sefra asks as she starts to follow until told otherwise.
“Of coursssse,” Throk says.
Work continues in the Shambles, restoring vendor camps and stalls to their more or less proper state. Patch, the four-armed Nall, is currently checking Serata’s new table tie-downs that are hooked to rings in the deckplate.
Making his way into the Shambles, Throk is quick to spot Patch. He contemplates an approach, based on his conversation with the Marshal, and walks up slowly. “Greetingsss. You are Patch, I would presssume. I have come to offer my asssissstance in any repairsss you may need for the ssstation. My name is Throk of House Vril, I am Galactix’ chief ssssyssstemsss engineer.”
Patch hears the name, the sibilance of the spoken words, and clacks her fangs together before she turns to regard Throkvril. “An engineer?” Her tone suggests surprise, but not displeasure. “We can certainly use more of them around here.”
“I can sssee that is not a professsion you expected,” Throk says. “I am not ssssurprised. I have ssseen to Galactix’ needsss, so I am available for whatever asssissstance you require.”
“I can assure you that I was not at all certain what I expected,” Patch agrees. “Nall are rare. Or at least we used to be.” Her jaw lolls open in what may be amusement. “There is a boy named Newt. He has started repairing the drones we use to maintain and mend Iron’s End. Perhaps you can work with him to get those online and then see to our hull repairs?”
Sefra hangs off to the side listening and looking around the area, but also with an ear turned to the conversation so she is still obviously paying attention.
“Sssoundsss like the bessst place to ssstart then,” Throk agrees. “I ssshall find him.” His jaw lolls open a bit in a grin. “I ssshare the sssentiment of rarity. For a time, we thought we were the lassst in the galaxy.”
“It is quite odd to imagine a galaxy where Nall are more common,” Patch replies. “Truly, I struggle with it. I am curious. All I have heard about the pre-Helix years suggest that we come from a warmongering world. A Nall like me—” she gestures with her cybernetic limbs, “seems unlikely to be accepted by the more traditional Nall. You seem unfazed by my enhancements.”
Sefra’s head tilts between the two as they talk. “She is sure everyone is having to adapt to things.”
“Perhapsss my ancessstorsss would have been,” Throk concedes. “But that was over a century ago. We have had to adapt to sssurvive, and perhapsss Galactix hasss taught usss a few thingsss along the way asss well.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” Patch says. She bobs her snout in acknowledgement to Throkvril.
The Lyiri makes a kind of smile at the two getting along, looking around a bit again.
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