CHAPTER 2;
THE GREASEMONKEY
"Okay, from the look of these relays, this is pretty much shot," he said, wiping his hands on a rag, "I don't think this is ever gonna work again."
His customer frowned, looking down at the vehicle, with scratches and dents. Clearly the gentleman had had the ship for quite some time, and now it was finally going to have to be put to rest. in a scrap yard. And it seemed as though he had grown quite attached to the wreck.
"Are you sure there's nothing you can do about it?" the man asked.
Tucking the filthy rag into one of his overall pockets, he crossed his arms, looking down contemplatively at the vehicle, and shook his head. "I'm sorry."
The customer grumbled, his yellow eyes looking from the mechanic to the vehicle. "What if I double the price?"
The mechanic laughed, and then said, "Listen, I'm tellin' you that this is busted beyond repair. If you had brought it to me earlier, I mighta been able to do somethin' about it. but now." He shrugged. "Extra cash ain't gonna change a thing."
The customer sighed, and nodded. "Alright. Looks like I need a new ship then."
"Yep," the mechanic agreed, and then glanced to the customer. "Mind if I keep this? I can probably salvage some parts."
The customer shrugged with a defeated nod. "Why not? I can't use it anymore."
With that the customer walked away, leaving the grubby mechanic behind in his small workshop with the small wrecked ship.
The mechanic looked down at it, and then to his name badge, which was covered in grease and dirt. Removing the rag once again, he wiped the dirt off the badge, and then sighed.
'Trip' shone through on the nametag.
He loved to work with ships and all things mechanical and all things containing engineering, but sometimes he felt like he was stuck in a rut. This was the third busted ship he had written off this week. It felt like he wasn't doing anything constructive with his talents.
And there was another thing. He felt out of place around here. he didn't look or act like his customers, and he had always thought that was because he was an individual. but now he wasn't so sure. He didn't belong here. he was an alien.
But it didn't feel right to call himself an alien. maybe these people, his customers, were the aliens. What if he didn't belong here at all?
He smiled a lopsided smile, and picked up a tool from the bench, ready to get to work on salvaging the parts he wanted.
THE GREASEMONKEY
"Okay, from the look of these relays, this is pretty much shot," he said, wiping his hands on a rag, "I don't think this is ever gonna work again."
His customer frowned, looking down at the vehicle, with scratches and dents. Clearly the gentleman had had the ship for quite some time, and now it was finally going to have to be put to rest. in a scrap yard. And it seemed as though he had grown quite attached to the wreck.
"Are you sure there's nothing you can do about it?" the man asked.
Tucking the filthy rag into one of his overall pockets, he crossed his arms, looking down contemplatively at the vehicle, and shook his head. "I'm sorry."
The customer grumbled, his yellow eyes looking from the mechanic to the vehicle. "What if I double the price?"
The mechanic laughed, and then said, "Listen, I'm tellin' you that this is busted beyond repair. If you had brought it to me earlier, I mighta been able to do somethin' about it. but now." He shrugged. "Extra cash ain't gonna change a thing."
The customer sighed, and nodded. "Alright. Looks like I need a new ship then."
"Yep," the mechanic agreed, and then glanced to the customer. "Mind if I keep this? I can probably salvage some parts."
The customer shrugged with a defeated nod. "Why not? I can't use it anymore."
With that the customer walked away, leaving the grubby mechanic behind in his small workshop with the small wrecked ship.
The mechanic looked down at it, and then to his name badge, which was covered in grease and dirt. Removing the rag once again, he wiped the dirt off the badge, and then sighed.
'Trip' shone through on the nametag.
He loved to work with ships and all things mechanical and all things containing engineering, but sometimes he felt like he was stuck in a rut. This was the third busted ship he had written off this week. It felt like he wasn't doing anything constructive with his talents.
And there was another thing. He felt out of place around here. he didn't look or act like his customers, and he had always thought that was because he was an individual. but now he wasn't so sure. He didn't belong here. he was an alien.
But it didn't feel right to call himself an alien. maybe these people, his customers, were the aliens. What if he didn't belong here at all?
He smiled a lopsided smile, and picked up a tool from the bench, ready to get to work on salvaging the parts he wanted.