[h2][center]Chapter 1[/center] [/h2]
[b]M5.213 
Hyperion 3, Orbiting Titan
Business Quadrant[/b] 
[hr]
Oil leaked out in a heavy gush of blackness, coating Neil's shirt and spattering on his cheek. He vainly tried to halt the flow of the spill, but the bolt was stubborn and the dribble on the floor grew larger. He let out a frustrated cry, overly dramatizing the minor annoyance for his own amusement and sanity. He spat out the inky liquid that had managed to fleck his lips and readjust the piping, muttering 'come on you fucker, be nice' as he muscled the thing shut. He would need to replace the oil along with replacing the calibrator for the sublight drive. Maybe they could find the part of the station, but it probably cost his left nut to buy. Which, of course, meant they would have to charge this nice old lady a full set, and Neil wouldn't do that without speaking to her first. Unless... 

Footsteps approached, and Neil wheeled himself out from under the VT-1890 light transport, lifting off his stained goggles. "Hey George, we got any sublight capacitors? Fifth gen, preferably." 

George was a short, older man. He had mottled, somewhat dark skin and a shaved head. He wore baggy pants and a stained shirt, moving a cart of ion power couplings. He was a little, wiry man, but he was strong as an ox. If you were as strong as George, that was worth boasting about. Neil liked the old man. George always ribbed him and he did it back. 

"Mmm sublight? Nah, I don't think we got any sublight capacitors here. Maybe third gen." George theorized. "Got some oil on ya, Neil."

"Yeah, yeah. Third gen?" 

"Mmhmm, third gen. Ask Griffon down the ramp. He outta know." George said, lifting the dense couplings out and setting them in the dispensers for later. Once he was half empty, he started wheeling them elsewhere to finish off the load. "Yeah, ask Griff." He repeated. Neil wasn't going to ask Griffon. Griffon was an asshole who wouldn't admit he had anything, even if it served his own purposes. Neil was going to go looking himself. 

"Bout time for lunch, innit?" Neil called back as George rounded out of sight. 

"Whatever you say, Neil, whatever you say." He said back, his voice carrying around. Neil grinned and hopped up, deciding he would take his break now rather than later so he could deal with the customers on a full stomach. He punched out on the dataclock and left the Colonial Mechanic, heading into the wide atrium of the Hyperium 3 Station to eat at [i]Soak Stack[/i], a dirty, albeit popular dive for spacers and locals alike. The logo was a busty woman balancing three frothing mugs on each hand, holding two and smiling even as the top two spilled onto her cleavage. 

[u][i]50 minutes later...[/i][/u] 

With a stomach of bratwurst, booze, and bread, Neil felt full to burst walking back. He had a few extra credits in his pocket from the excursion. Not many people could say they went out to eat and came back with more money than they spent, but what could he say? He was a winner. He hadn't yet wiped the oil off his face, however, other than a small rubbing with a napkin. The look suited him, he fancied. Matched his hair and eyes and reminded him of his days in the Valc, back during the war. Old memories began to creep back, but he shoved them away. Not today. He would not be scrounging up old wounds just to get depressed today. Nope. 

"Mrs. Riggard is here," He heard from the office as he passed. David Alten had his eyes peeled to the cogitator, but when Neil stopped, he glanced his way. He tried to freak his employees out, as if he knew where they were with some sort of psychic powers, but Neil knew he had a camera outside of his office on a mini-window at the bottom left corner of his screen. He knew that because he had broken in before to get the keys to the warehouse for parts before. Sometimes you had to stretch the rules here if you wanted to meet the quota. 

But he guessed that was every job. 

"I'm bout to see her boss-man. Keep ya briches on." Neil remarked casually, striding down the corridor after only hesitating a moment. 

"Next time you're late I'll write you up." He heard behind him. "Might hire one of the spacers out there, instead." 

"Yessir boss!" Neil said, saluting even out of eyesight. His voice went down in volume when he spoke next. "You can space deez nuts, bitch." And facetiously groped his crotch with his back turned to the increasingly distant camera. Neil saw his friend Paul smiling, having evidently heard. They highfived and Neil turned the corner and stepped up to the front desk to see the elderly Mrs. Riggard. White haired and lined face, she wore a jumpsuit and stood alone, evidently a system traveler on a holiday, if Neil remembered correctly. The lobby was moderately sized, with multiple chairs and a telescreen at the corner for people waiting. There was a huge sign of 'no weapons allowed' at the door.

"Hi, I'm here to pick up my VT-1890," she said with a hopeful smile. 

"Hi Mrs. Riggard, yeah I took a look at it yesterday and found there was a bit more work we needed to do with it. So I spent all morning with it, and it's getting oil replaced as we speak. But there's some bad news. You need a new capacitor for your sublight engine. The cost will really depend on how long you're willing to wait." 

There was a small gleam in her eye, as if Neil was a challenge to be overcome. He admired the tenacity, but unfortunately no matter what she did, capitalism was going to win. "And what is a capacitor exactly?" She inquired, hoping to stump Neil. Neil smiled with amusement, though he tried to hide it. 

"A capacitor is in your engine is needed for torque, ma'am. It connects the wires and is used to giving your sublight engines a bit more oomph." 

She shook her head in little movements, as if she was trying to get Neil to speak in even more layman terms. Neil's opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. He placed his hands together like he was performing shadow puppets and moved them from left to right. "So, you want your ship to go zoom zoom? Then a capacitor is needed. You can wait a day and pay a lot, or wait two weeks and pay kind of a lot. And before you ask, I am the manager." He lied, placing a hand to his chest. 

Mrs. Riggard blustered, and then walked away, pulling out her communicator and calling whoever in order to vent or wire money, he didn't know. Neil placed his elbows on the counter and watched her walk away with a blasé expression writ across his face. "Ah, the wonders of retail." He said aloud, before the next in line walked up to speak to him. He realized he should have escaped to the back before, so he pushed himself up off the desk. 

"Sorry, I'mma need to-" He started, lifting his thumb back to point at the door, about to say he was getting back to it. But the latest customer was probably the hottest woman he had seen in months. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed her before. Neil dropped his hand and felt his mouth go dry. "Uh, something you need?"