Dark Nebula Cluster
A hopeful mining pilot with a bit of an edge to match her bright outlook
Slug Throwers (1)
Have a Thing – Father’s Wrench
Specialist – Aircraft
Specialist – Vehicles
Health Bits (3)
Composure and shit (3)
The sun is no longer remembered on Tigra. It has passed from the common experience into something almost mythical and yet, when Sirin’s mother would tell her the story of her birth it was with a soft almost secret smile and she would tell her small, wide eyed child that the sun peeked out from behind dark clouds for just a moment as if in greeting for this special gift. That was how she was raised; with hope on a hopeless world. When others would walk in dark garbed herds to and from their daily tasks, most had their be-goggled eyes track the concrete beneath their boots, but Sirin would tilt her oval face to the sky and dream of something she had once heard called, “a blue sky”.
There was never a question as to which path Sirin would take once she was old enough to choose a career. Space and pilot. That was all she ever talked about almost to the point of mind numbing detail to anyone who would listen. She quickly progressed through her apprenticeship as first a mechanic and then finally, that beautiful day she was accepted into the pilot program. It was through a privatized company as any venture on Tigra was with the government inhabiting so little of the day to day tasks of the planet. Industrira Mining Corp was the parent company with Rock Flyers being the sub-firm training and providing pilots for the mining company’s operations. She was elated the fist time she piloted that rusty, cruddy shuttle from the asteroid to the main ship all on her own. She felt free.
Moment of Crisis
Joyful optimism and disreputable don’t go hand in hand. Most of Sirin’s co-workers were of the latter and she often adopted a tough girl facade to hide the former. It had never come into sharp conflict before, but all that changed the night they were at a bar called, “The Grinding Gears.” It was cards, drinks, and smokes per usual for the gang of grimy miners crawling out from their cramped turrets and tramping their boots on solid ground. Sirin was happily inhaling the acrid smoke of a subpar ciggara while a card game raged on among her coworkers and a few fellow miners from another ship also seeking grimy refuge within the bar. As it often does, a dispute broke out over who had what and a drunken row over lost credits ensued. Sirin turned to observe the raucous debate over a possible cheat letting it play out before her. One of the miners on her ship, a man called Muegar, was particularly drunk and in a rage had pinned one of the opposing card players to the wall. Sirin was sure it was Muegar who had cheated and felt her moral compass spinning wildly as she struggled with letting the poor miner get injured vs. standing up to her own crew. In the end she couldn’t stand the thought of mindless violence befalling the poor card player and stepped in to defend the man, earning the ire of her crew mates. With a sinking heart, she tromped off back towards the vessel following the dark glares of her shipmates.
Muegar had yelled and spit a steady stream of obscenities at Sirin outside the bar. Her shoulders hunched deeper and deeper with each verbal lashing until she was left head dropped and hands firmly shoved in pockets after he turned on his heel to unsteadily weave his way down the alley. Part of her knew she should have let the fight play out and yet she wasn’t prepared to watch some poor guy take a knife to the gut over a game of cards. She was incredibly distracted as she mounted her hover bike and kicked it to life with a firm thrust down with her boot. Sirin never even saw the frail creature step off the curb to cross the street. Her hover bike clipped the leg of a young girl as she was crossing the street. Adrenaline ripped through Sirin’s veins as she screeched to a halt and tried to collect herself, her head turning wildly to see what had befallen her victim. She clamored off her bike and ran back towards the young woman, desperately hoping it wasn’t bad. Sirin immediately took pity upon the grimy, malnourished looking woman and reached out a hand to help her off the dirty street. The teenager cried out and scrambled away from Sirin as if she had threatened the poor thing with physical harm instead of a helping hand. Confusion filled the young pilot as she helplessly watched the waif take off into the night obviously terrified. How could she help one person and inflict pain on another all in the same night?
On Your Own
Three years Sirin had been working on various mining vessels. Sometimes she pulled double duty as a mechanic and a shuttle pilot, but mostly she just ferried goods back and forth on the cruddy little space wagons. She longed to head a crew of her own someday where she could call the shots instead of constantly being subject to the whims of over worked, over sauced, and under paid captains. Until that day, she tried to take pleasure in being above the smog of her youth and kept throwing the credits into her old cigar box for a brighter day.