You look up at the man seated across from you. To call him an officer would be too flattering, any military worth its salt should have made him at least patch the holes and iron the creases on his uniform before showing his face in public. But an officer he is, and an officer you soon will be, at least in theory. He puffs out a ring of smoke before locking eyes with you:

"So will you come with me or not? If we go immediately, we can make it to Liteia just in time for all the repairs to finish. Docking fees ain't too bad, but I would rather we get the ship out there and start making up for the lost creds asap."

He fixed his cap, leaned across the table, and stretched out a hand towards you:

"Us privateers don't like salutes, too formal and stuffy. You can't tell a good man from bad with just it either. A strong firm handshake, on the other hand, lets you look real close at his heart. Will he stand, will he run, will he punch a shiny new hole in your back, either way his hands can't, won't hide it."

You hesitate for just a moment before taking his hand. His grip is strong, very strong, and you can feel all the calluses squeezing against your smooth palm. He laughs:

"Good, good. A landlubber, but at least one with some mettle. Your old man would be proud, hell, he must be proud wherever he is now. We'll meet at landing bay 86-B at 0800 sharp tomorrow then. Don't make me wait."

You are not so sure about his praise. After all, just yesterday you were still living a mostly average life as an accountant, without even the courage to join the auditing department despite the promised pay raise. And now, you have just accepted an offer from a complete stranger to go off beyond even the Periphery to a life among the stars of the Liteian Directorate. "What have gotten into me", you wonder, "Ma would kill me for this if she's still here."