Regency Starport -- High Centre
There are vertical landing towers holding floating landing pads on elegant support struts spread throughout Regency Starport like massive trees. The glimmer of soft force fields circles many of the surface-based landing pads to inhibit atmospheric disruption by the landing and lifting off of vessels. The whole of the starport is a stark contrast of black and polished white: the landing surfaces themselves done in black and everything else in pristine white. Numerous vessels of various shapes, styles, and purposes rest on pads, or drift from pad to docking berths nestled around the port. Overhead the clear, climate-manipulated sky of High Centre is bright blue with ethereal white clouds spread through the sky like the delicate brushstrokes of some master artist painting a happy picture across the horizon.
A human man standing at above average height. Black, well kept hair with salt and pepper on the sides frames a face that is all angles. With his hawkish features his blue eyes are often obscured by a squint. This is a man who conserves motion, only moving when necessary and often will stand completely still for great lengths of time while he thinks. His mouth is turned down at the corners and he always looks to be in a state of displeasure.
With slender limbs and a narrow waist, Trina has the silhouette of a human female. At a glance, however, she could easily be mistaken for a droid. Both her arms and legs have been completely replaced, the incomplete outer surfaces of each appendage made up of a mixture of brushed aluminum and mirrored chrome. Wires and servos are exposed in places, either as an aesthetic choice or due to lack of funds to complete the work. More chrome covers the crown of her head and down the back of her neck, a sharp contrast to the tan flesh still visible over her cheeks and clavicle. One eye looks upon the world with a blue, human iris, the other takes in the light through an optical lens and sophisticated technology.
From her choice of attire, Trina shows no desire to blend in with the unmodified humans of Regency society. A gray tank-top reveals more than it hides, exposing where her synthetic shoulders meld with the remaining flesh of her upper body. All along her bare midriff, lines of metal contour with shape of her abs, a crude map of where bio-mechanical equipment has invaded her torso beneath her ribs. Simple black shorts function for the purposes of modesty, another wardrobe statement to show where her fully cybernetic legs blend with the remaining human anatomy. No shoes cover her feet, nor gloves cover her hands.
Standing near the terminal is a tall man wrapped in black coveralls and the golden symbol of the Regency. He appears to be a man of middle age with salt and pepper hair. He is bent over looking at a datapad, casually flicking the screen every few seconds.
The busy Regency Starport is alight with mechanical life, ships landing upon and taking off from pads like butterflies tasting flowers in full bloom. One of these mechanical beasts lands with a hiss and sigh of hydraulics, its metal feet flexing upon the landing platform and ejecting steam and the scent of burned coolant into the air.
When the door opens, a female figure, another example of 'mechanical life,' leaves the confines of the shuttle in a hurry. She turns and directs a sharp, accusatory look back at the shuttle, her scowl pronounced.
So it is that she doesn't see another fast moving pedestrian cross her path. She's bumped. Stumbles back towards the terminals. Pinwheels to keep from falling over... and one of her hands comes in contact with the tall man's datapad.
As her hand comes into contact with his datapad, Maksamir attempts to grasp her wrist as he jerks the glowing pad in the opposite direction. "Watch where you are going!" he practically spits before he takes a moment to analyze the woman before him. His blue eyes flick from flesh to robotics and back again before he says, "Those need to be calibrated if you are this clumsy."
Trina's arm tenses once her wrist is captured. No display of super-human strength such as can be found with load-lifter droids or power mechs. Just the regular reflex and reaction of a human female, resistant and angry.
"Let go of me!" Trina says. She gestures towards the other pedestrian's back, a near-human male with head tentacles and a walk like a boulder rolling down a hill. He doesn't look back or acknowledge Trina or the man by the terminal. "If anyone needs 'recalibrated' it's that piece of _drek_."
Maksamir glances towards the tentacled boulder before he releases Trina's arm. He straightens and clasps his hands behind his back, the datapad disappearing into a sleeve before he says, "Indeed." He continues to study her but it is not in a leering manner, more of a clinical apprasial. "Do these serve as human equivalent replacements, or do these possess abilities beyond that of humans? I've read several research papers on both and there are some interesting and horrific side effects."
Trina's glare rotates from the disappearing stranger to the one standing next her, like the movement of a mounted heavy laser. As much as she might wish it, her looks are not nearly so deadly.
It takes her a moment to answer. If the expression on her face is any indicator, she chews through several responses, finding each too bitter to put release into the air. She settles on a smile through clenched teeth, a friendly gesture in most societies, a display of hostile aggression amongst lower primates.
"Are you some sort of expert in cybernetics, Mr...?"
Clearing his throat he says, "My name is Maksamir and I build and program droids for a living, as well as some other engineering." He shrugs a shoulder and0 says, "I am by no means an expert, but it is a curiosity. I've never implanted cybernetics personally, though I would definitely make sure that I coded the implant to render its owner unconscious or dead if they were unable to pay their bill, or my employers required it." He strokes his black goatee as he says, "I assume you've had your programming checked to make sure nothing nefarious has been implanted?"
"I'll give you credit. It's not the worst pick-up line I've heard."
Trina resists the urge to roll her eye as she takes a step back from Maksamir. "But no, I've become something of an expert in the field myself, out of necessity. I believe people start with a finite amount of trust at birth, and it looks I used mine all up. I will say I appreciate you warning me up front about what you would do to a person that didn't pay their bill. The next time someone disfigures me in attempted murder, I'll be sure my credit is good first."
Even to Trina's ears, the words sound harsh. She tries to soften the sentiment with a friendly smile.
Maksamir doesn't seem to pick up on the tone of her comments before he says, "As you should. Credits make the galaxy go round after all. It's unfortunate that you were harmed, but the odds of it happening are very high." He then tries to turn the conversation as he says, "Are you a stim addict or do you have employment? You don't look like someone the Regency would favor as an employee, though knowledge of cybernetics is something to consider..."
The harsh glare of annoyance in Trina's eye melts into a more puzzle curiosity. She cocks her head to one side as she studies Maksimar from head to toe. The questions he was asking... the mention of The Regency... could he be...?
Trina dons the affectations of a model citizen of the Regency. Straight back. Neutral expression. Lightness to her voice. "After the accident, I was medicated for the pain for a while, but I've never used stims. No, sir. That's the kind of thing that can fry your brain or burn out your heart and well..." As she trails off, she gestures to her face and torso. "You preserve what you can, right? But as for employment, I pay my taxes to the Regency. A good citizen's employment history is a matter of public record, is it not?"
Maksamir almost smiles, but it looks more like gas. He nods slowly as she recounts her medical history and once they move to taxes he gives a small snort and says, "Employment histories are just bits of programming. Regardless, I am glad to hear you are not addicted to stims, I don't approve of them myself." He glances down as one of his devices lights up and he says, "Anyhow, I need to be on my way. I don't believe I caught your name, if that is by design then I shall bid you farewell. Though I am sure I will be seeing you."
"My name's Trina. Just Trina."
There is a subtle hint of bitterness in her voice as she gives her name, but no sign of upset or discomfort in her face. She takes another step back from Maksamir and gives him a short bow.
"If you're in system on business long, perhaps we will see each other again. My work for The Regency is not exclusive. Perhaps some of my freelance work will land us in the same operating room."
Maksamir bows his head slightly and says, "It is good to make your acquaintence Trina, Just Trina." He then pulls his black cloak about his shoulders and says, "Oh I would so look forward to that. Until then." He then makes his way towards the merchant quarter.