Making Sense
06 May 2018Roober the Stroober
Explorers have "interesting" friends. At least, that is what I have discovered. It's just funny how, even at 2 o'clock in the morning the bar is still open on a station that's out in the middle of nowhere, populated by just a few shift workers, a cook (who doubles as the bartender), a few local cops - and somebody with a message for me just happens to show up at such an odd hour."J.L.P. sent me," said the shady character sitting next to me at the bar.
He didn't make eye contact. In fact, his casual glances around the room seemed intent on avoiding me. He looked back toward the door, stretched slowly off of his stool like he was waking up from a nap. Then pushed away from the bar and started towards the door, not seeming to be in any particular rush.
The cook/bar-keep was the only other guy in the room.
The messenger continued, "Lay low, don't leave the station for another 12 hours. Then, start making your way to the deal-maker." He strolled out through the open entrance and disappeared.
It took me a moment to remember who the dealmaker was. I wasn't just new to this part of space; the culture itself seemed just a little "off." Don't get me wrong, people are people no matter where you go it seems. However, there was an unfamiliarity that just felt bigger than an amnesia issue. Folks look normal enough (except for some of those pirate dudes with their face all tatted up and such – that’s just weird…), but I don’t really recognize anything. The ships look different, the stations are different, the whole ambiance of things just feels…
Off.
Then again, maybe I just ended up in a part of the galaxy that I have never been to. Somehow, my ship strayed tens of thousands of light years off course, crashed into a moon where none of the stars look familiar, and I slept through the whole thing.
Makes sense, right?