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[b]Fret Chappel  :  Human  :  Prospector[/b]

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0EgzJ0KGxg]Music[/url]
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Fret walked down the cold metal lining with the artificial air of the space ship corridor. It was a cramped corridor. 

Shortly, he found what was to be his quarters. 

Walking inside the brushed steel miniature room,
a small bed that slid out from a drawer he unslung his survival burgen and sat it alongside one wall. The door closed behind him with a reassuring k-shuuk. "distinctly nordic", he thought.

As he was early for his flight, a flight that might last months or even years he decided to make himself at home in his new room. Without taking his boots off he slid the bed back into its drawer half way and sat down with the back of his head resting on the frame. He began to do his meditation. Closing his eyes with legs crossed he tried to find the golden light. The one that had been left in his burnt retinas.

After he had been injured by a star grenade he had had to spend weeks in convalescence, left with the golden light. At first it had been painful and had kept him crying out and sweating all night long. After about a week he had decided he just had to make peace with it. And the pain had subsided.

So there it was, the golden light. It was getting harder to find now as he had more distractions in his life. But he had gotten used to it. Indeed it actually seemed comforting.

Not many people would volunteer for such a journey that would last years, possibly a lifetime on an alien planet. 
Especially one that just involved checking rocks constantly and logging mining sites. Sites to be sold to future corporations that likely didnt exist yet. Many burnouts would be aboard this ship, he knew. 
"I wonder what it would be like to meet them. Their stories."

When the claxon started going off his eyes shot open. Including his cybernetic third eye implanted in the middle of his head. What on earth could this be? He heard the announcement over the tannoy. "Well" he thought "I am not security personnel so i wont be troubled with it". Feeling uneasy he got up and slid the small metal tab on his door to the locked position. "There, i cant be killed now..." he thought.

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After a little while he started to pace up and down the miniature room. I say, pace, it was more like one two steps and turn and then another two steps and turn.

"But what about the others...?"

After a little while he moved over to the survival burgan and opened the rifle holster and slid out [u]the rifle[/u]. Nervously he digged around to find a small box in his backpack. He popped open a cardboard cartridge box by crusing it with the palm of his hand on the bedside... and began thumbing cartridges down into the circular magazine. One-two-three. He listened out for anything dangerous outside.

"Bloody ME, its not like i havent seen enough killing to last TEN lifetimes." he cursed quietly.