Shop talk Chapter 1 Get a Job

 

 Preface. 

    As some readers know I self published a version of what started as a short story and soon to be a complete novel. If you have a copy, you will see some editing going on here. Hang on to that hard copy as it's now a future valuable first draft edition. 

    I have decided to post most of it here as I discoverd self publishing is kind of spendy and this will reach a wider audience. Who knows, maybe a publisher will pick it up like "The Martian" which started out this way.

    Given the current interest with UFO's and potential disclosure I figure I better post before someone accuses me of exploiting "The Awakening" for personal gain. I plan to post a new chapter every other week, so stay tuned.

1
  Get a Job

 

         “ George, this is Alisa, our new interior detailer. You’ll be working with her a lot.” Stan introduces me to a creature that looks like a large ape with blue fuzz. Stan is owner of Mussel Mechanics & Design, a space ship repair and customizing shop.

          George wipes a hand with a rag and stuffs it in a pocket of his brown overalls. He is over two meters tall with four arms protruding from a massive torso and wearing the biggest rubber boots I have ever seen.

         “Nice to meet you,” he says in perfect American English as his extended lower right hand swallows mine. I have never seen a Chiron up close so this is a new experience for me.

         “Uh, nice to meet you too,” I manage. His grip is firm with just the right amount of pressure.

         “Boss, that new gee-gaw for the Swanson is finally here, where do you want it?” George asks Stan.

         “Leave it in the holding bay until there's got room for it. Would you finish the tour of the shop while I find out what new crisis Gaga is having,” He refers to a large black women waving at him frantically through the window of the front office. He's gone before either of us can respond. George and I exchange shrugs and proceed to the main floor.

         It's an ordinary looking repair shop the size of a airplane hangar with a grungy dirt and oil stained odor to it I find comfortable and familiar. Powerful lights two stories above cast a strong glare on the three bays, several work stations and a huge metal cage off to one side. The place is noisy from the drone of tested engines, pneumatic tools and the industrial strength heating and air circulation systems.

         “You’re not stunned by me like other Terrans working off world,” George mention lightly, noticing my nonchalance.

         I smile at a private joke. Ah yes, my dear, fellow humans completely freaked, to put it mildly, when the aliens of a nearby solar system presented themselves at “The Awakening” as it was called. I found the whole thing highly amusing as our species' collective ego exploded at the realization that we aren’t the center of the universe. A lot of religious folks didn’t take it well.

         “After traveling Beyond Light Speed, not much fazes me anymore,” I admit, and he understood.

         Until recently, Beyond Light Speed was an intense experience for humans due to the twisting of space-time. I stop to stare at a ship the size of a train engine sitting in the far bay.

         “What?” George notices my reaction.

         “That’s a class one space tug with twin Boller plasma engines. What’s wrong with it?” I ask, trying to sound causal yet knowledgeable. I'm grateful for the late night cram session memorizing the different types of craft plying interstellar space.

         “The tractor beam keeps shorting out,” He explains.

         Ouch. You don’t want the beam to go out on one of these monsters while pushing a 10k transport barge into dock. That’s a messy crash.

         “What do you know about McKinleys?” he asks and I give him the same honest answer I gave Stan during the job interview.
         “Not a damn thing.”
         The McKinley Ion Drive is the Rolls Royce of long range propulsion systems favored for its power, efficiency and propitiatory technology. Mussel Mechanics the only authorized repair shop in this solar system, which is a big deal as nobody outside the company knows exactly how they work. You might as well have the design of the Klingon cloaking device.

         He seems pleased with my response and I warm up to him. Despite his intimidating size he is gentle in manner and genuinely curious about everything.

         A few minutes later Stan catches up with us and George ambles back to work, giving me a fan like wave with all four of his hands.

         “ George isn’t his real name right?” I ask Stan.

         “Nah, he has one of those long unpronounceable names like the Indians. We call him that for short, ” he says with a small chuckle.

         “Just a head’s up, we got two Pohls working here,” he remarks off handedly as we head back to the front office.
         The Pohls are the natives of the nearby planet. There was a fashion of naming the planets of star systems after famous science fiction writers. Hence the planets Asimov, Heinlein, LeGuin, Pratchett and Pohl, for Fredrick Pohl. The inhabitants don't care, they probably do the same sort of thing to us.

         “Welcome aboard," Stan says as he finishes his standard introduction, I sign some paperwork and we shake hands making my job official.

         Stan tells me to be at the shop tomorrow at 1500 hours for the second shift. I nod, glad that my part time work at another smaller shop is paying off. I like Stan, he has an honest reputation, although one can never be sure out on the wild frontier. There's a momentary pause as we stand in his cluttered office.

          "How did you end up here?” Stan inquires. This is the single, most frequently asked question of everyone.

         Back home I was bored as a graphic artist and decided to reinvent myself. After arriving, I decided to pursue ship detailing as it combined my love of machine tinkering with interior design. I never saw furniture, a room layout or gadget that I couldn’t resist redesigning in my head.

         What he is really asking is how I ended up at a colony in a distant solar system. Here's a short, middle aged, single woman with no special training or experience with space travel and no connection to any of the companies that settled on this moon a decade ago. Friends and family were baffled by my preference for an off world life but I love every single, amazing, utterly different thing about it. It gives me a reason to get up every morning and explore.

         “It seemed like a natural place to be, I have autism so I’m practically alien already,” I say proudly.

         Ain’t that the truth.