His bike was beautiful. Keith had built her from scratch from a wrecked Yohanda 400x and replaced the internal hull with a two-ion powered engine, reworked the hardware, and had Pidge help him with the hologram display so it showed exactly how fast he was going down to the millimeters. It could hardly be called a bike, especially one as daft as a 400, but the name stuck.
And damn, she was fast.
Although his job at the repair shop got him by just fine, he truly loved racing to get extra cash. The races in the desert were fast paced and rough, more than often enough sending racers to the hospital (or to the referee's house) and their wrecked bikes into Sefram's workshop the next day.
He finds it ironic. Lance finds it hilarious. Sefram thinks he's insane.
Keith just loves the adrenaline high. And the emotions it sends to his soulmate, the happiness and freedom and hopefully confidence.
But mostly the adrenaline high.
He cast his eyes to his beloved 400, before stepping inside his house that he had lovingly deemed "The Shit Shack." He'd bought groceries that afternoon and didn't want the ice cream to melt any more in the sun.
He checked the outdoor temperature while hydrating a Food Pack and let out a huff. Nearing forty four degrees celsius. Nice and toasty.
Not wanting to waste the daylight, he grabbed his toolbox and stepped outside, shedding his thin thermal protection jacket and letting the red sun hit his bare skin. He went to work, popping the lid of the engine and reaching inside to those loose wires.
The problem was more complicated than he first thought. The engine had gained a lot of waste from the ion engine and mixing with the dust and thin atmosphere, so he went to the back of the house and got an oxygen tank, venting pure oxygen inside the engine to settle the waste. After waiting five minutes for the oxygen to escape and mix with the surrounding air, he wiped down the internal gears and vents with a non static cloth.
Then came the wiring. The internal carbon fibres to the hologram display were loose, so he tightened them the best he could, melting the ones that couldn't be tightened by hand to the internal hull.
Excitement and gratitude flowed though the mark. Keith felt it itch in joy and couldn't help but smile as his soulmate celebrated-
Celebrated whatever it was.
As night drew near, Keith reluctantly put his thermal coat back on for fear of the cold nights. He didn't mind being roasted to the core, he did grow up in New Houston right near the worst of the prominence , but it was the cold he feared. Cold winds didn't warm you up.
Finally he fixed the internal wiring, replaced and cleaned the valve, and checked on the tiny pellet of uranium that powered his bike in the first place.
No ruptures. That's good. He knew a guy who ignored a crack in his bike's pellet and blew his ass up in the middle of space.
Lost an arm from it too.
Keith tried not to think about that too much.
Tightening his thermal around his chest, he rushed inside before the worst of the cold could get to him. Putting the heaters on full blast up to a toasty twenty seven degrees, he threw his clothes in the basket of soiled clothing. Keith crinkled his nose. He'll have to do laundry soon.
Soulmark. Yeah. Keith pressed two fingers to the yellow star and sent a wave of affection and pride. He wasn't sure what his soulmate did, you only get emotions and such after all, but damnit he was proud. Especially with the anxiety they've been suffering from recently.
Maybe whatever was causing it finally lessened?
He slung himself over the couch, kicking off his shoes and pants and clicked on the TV, wrapping himself in that red woven wool from Earth.
As characters from a rerun of late 2560's shows danced on the screen, he closed his eyes and let all of the emotions wash over him from today, careful not to touch his soulmark to alarm them.
He needed a friend, someone closer than his coworkers at the repair shop. He wanted his soulmate with him so badly it hurt. He'd been on his own since eleven when those damn terrarians blew up his military parents. Before then it was the same thing. Move every year. Take a different way home every day. Don't make patterns. Don't make close friends. Never leave home without the basic essentials and a weapon in case we get blown up.
They got blown up. Keith ran from New Houston. Moved town every year. Don't make friends.
Just recently, at twenty one, did he realize that his parents were nut jobs. He had a soulmark, he was destined to be with someone and settle down, maybe have some kids or like, five dogs.
Damn military.
He caught sight of the thin scars on his legs.
Damn parents.
His shift started at two pm this day. Keith left at twelve, basket of dusty laundry in the storage compartment of his 400.
Halfway through town a fluffy red thing ran in front of him, out of the weeds growing on the side of the road. Keith swerved to avoid it, turning back to get a good look at the thing that he'd almost killed.
A rusty red cat with yellow eyes stared back, almost as if Keith almost didn't kill the strange thing. It panted lightly, likely from lack of water, and padded across the ground towards him.
That's when Keith noticed it didn't have any thermal protection. Not even little boots like Pidge's dog.
Poor thing, he thought. He took his phone out of his pocket and aimed the camera at the cat, looking for an identification chip. None popped up.
"Here, kitty kitty kitty." He catcalled, sliding off the bike and lowering his body to the ground. "You want to go inside with me? It'll be cold, and I can give you some socks. They'll be big, but you won't burn your paws. I could feed you too."
The cat regarded him, and slowly swaggered towards him in that lazy way that only cats can put off. He rubbed his head against Keith's arm, purring wildly.
Keith picked the tomcat up, surprised at how calm the cat was. He'd had a cat once, and it had hated him. He turned the cat over to inspect his paws, and hissed when he saw the swollen and cracked pads.
"Shit, man. You've had it rough." Keith commented. The cat only purred louder. Keith one handedly started the bike up again, carefully driving the half kilometer to the laundromat. The cat curled up in the small space between his lap and the hologram displays, seeming content riding along at sixty kilometers an hour.
He couldn't just leave the cat there. So he brought him inside, placing him on top of the warm dryers. The cat stayed put, only meowing when Keith went back outside to get his laundry.
He threw in half a Ruble and didn't even bother to sort the clothing, letting it all wash into one faded color eventually. While the cycle was going the cat jumped down, landing on Keith's shoulders and letting out a little "Pbbrt?"
Oh yeah. Cats need water. He took out the shallow cup from his side pack and poured some water in it, placing the cup on the ground.
"Drink up, kitty." He placed the cat on the ground. The cat lapped at the water.
Once his laundry was done he folded it up and went up front for some rubber bands. When he came back the cat had drunk every last drop of the water and had sat on the warm laundry, getting dust and red cat fur all over his favorite shirt.
Keith just laughed.