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[h1]Chapter One: Eden Orbital Shipyard[/h1]

"No!" Velia held up a finger to silence the grey talking toad in the scooter, "No, you can't come aboard.  We'll let people on at some point but that point isn't now.  I'm the communications officer," she motioned at herself.  She was actually wearing an Edenite uniform for a change.  The Colonial Support Fleet wasn't technically military though an alien observer might have mistaken them for a military branch.  Their uniform was a soft green color with pale white trim. The fabric and her brown leather belt were pristine, which looked nice, but was, incidentally, a sign she was a fresh recruit... along with the distinct lack of any rank insignia.  It did, however, make her look official.

"What exactly are you waiting for?" the frog puffed himself up, leaning forward in a gesture she assumed was meant to be menacing, "The surface is lost.  This station needs the surface to supply it with food.  You can at least take us somewhere where we might have a chance to survive instead of slowly starving to death up here!"

"Goodbye Divaldo," she replied, reaching up to grasp the edge of the metal shutter at the end of the boarding tunnel, bringing it down with a satisfying crash.

From the other side she could make out the outraged spluttering of the toad, "That's [b]Gloriont[/b] Divaldo to you, you dhasath [i]tralk[/i]!"  Velia couldn't help but smirk a little out the outrage in his voice.

She crouched down, making sure the shutter was firmly sealed, then began to walk back towards the ship, loosening her collar as she did.  Divaldo was repeating more or less what the Station Supervisor had been demanding she do in his office a few minutes earlier. Velia agreed - there wasn't much point hanging around, but the problem was she had never flown a Spaceship before (except in a simulator and her crash record in the simulator didn't inspire her with confidence to pilot a Colony Ship), so she intended to wait for a few more days at least, until it was abundantly clear nobody else was coming from the surface, or one of the other colonies, in the hope that someone with some actual experience with something other than a shuttle arrived.

She gave a small sigh of relief as she stepped into the familiar comfort of the ESS 3822-01, pressing the button to close the door to the station, shutting out the bickering irritation that the station provided.  The off-white corridors had a pleasant soft lighting installed; it was aesthetically pleasing, if a little spartan.  The modest cabin for the Comms Officer had new fixtures, a comfortable mattress and (probably since nobody else was using it at the moment) good water pressure in the shower.  [i]Get changed, let your hair down then head out for the bar,[/i] she decided.  While they were waiting there was precious little else to do other than drink.

[hr]

[h2][i]Half an hour later...[/i][/h2]

Velia opened the shutters at the end of the boarding tunnel with a degree of trepidation, half expecting to see Divaldo or some other annoying Station dweller to try to pester their way onto the ship.  But thankfully there was nobody in sight.  So she quickly locked the shutter behind her, taking a few hurried steps away from the shutters.

Velia had changed into a much more casual affair; jeans, a tank top and a black leather jacket and had let her hair fall free across her shoulders. Hopefully she looked sufficiently different that in the context of the bar people weren't going to see 'that woman from the Colony Ship'.  There was only one on the station, with the slightly depressing name of 'The Drink'.  Ironically, it was still charging money for alcohol - Velia figured nobody was going to be left to audit what she had done with the petty cash and the Metacer apparently hadn't eaten into the bank's electronic infrastructure yet, so she was able to flash her CSF card around at will.

She pulled up a stool next to the bar, casting an eye around the establishment.  A few depressed looking patrons, none of whom she recognised.  Perfect.  She did notice, however, that the humans and kiellar had all stripped down to their shirt sleeves and mostly looked a little uncomfortable with the heat - presumably the station's heating system was on the fritz again, not that temperature changes bothered dhasath too much.

A sleeping looking human barman shuffled in her direction, "Whiskey, on the rocks..." he opened his mouth, presumably to ask her which one, "Whatever the most expensive is," she paused as he reached up towards the top shelf, "Save yourself a job and leave the bottle," she said.

He glanced her way, his eyes alighting on the CSF bank card she was tapping on the bar, then shrugged, bringing the bottle over.  Until a pilot arrived, there really wasn't much better to do with her afternoons.  Or was it morning?  It was hard to tell on a space station.