Anyone on Earth would think Roc a freak. He had long, silver-streaked black hair, pale skin and a tall frame- nearly six feet.
The pale skin would have smacked of albino, if it weren't for his piercing blue eyes. A friend once described him as "a tiger behind that cool face." And, like the tiger he was called, he was restless. He wanted to break free of his small colony world. His greatest dream was to study at Earth University.
Like his namesake, the roc bird, he was a loner. He tended to be aloof, and could be seen walking the streets lost in his own thoughts. He tended to sit alone in school. His best friend, Mike, would say, "It's another silent treatment."
Now he paced his room, compupad in hand, tallying up his money. "Sixteen credits yesterday, plus four, subtract three..." He came up with a solution and sighed. "Not even a hundred yet. I might as well start selling lemonade."
That cynical remark, though, sparked an idea. He needed a business. Considering his natural talent with machines, he thought a repair shop should work.
He chuckled at the irony of that. A natural at mechanics, what a joke! The chuckle became a laugh. "I have it! Toby will love this."
He stopped by Circuit Shop that afternoon. The neon-green sign read "Open."
The door chimed as he entered. He went right to the counter, where old Patrick held sway.
"Well, look what the shockwave brought in," he said with a laugh. "What can I do for you, Roc?"
"I'm looking for work."
"You've come to the right place! I saw that robot you fixed. It was amazing!"
"Yeah, well, I practically had to scrap the memory banks. It wasn't easy."
"You're a born talent," Patrick chuckled. "Come on, let me introduce you to my assistant."
He nodded to a serious-looking teenage girl, who was tinkering with a mobile com unit. Every so often she'd enter a string of data on her comupad.
"This is Naylor, but you can call her Nail."
The girl nodded and resumed working. Roc leaned over and pointed at a data cylinder. "That should go here."
"Thanks," said Nail curtly, and adjusted the cylinder.
Now Patrick seemed put out. "Nail, you should be more polite."
"Why?" asked Nail. "Machines aren't any nicer when you say 'please.'"
"But people are! Stop acting the clone and greet Roc properly!"
"Hello, Roc," she coolly.
Knowing that she wanted to be left alone, he nodded and stepped back. "Well, see you around."
"Before you go," Patrick said, "I have something to show you." He led Roc to the garage behind the shop.
There, resting on a cushion of air, was a fighter.
Roc gasped. "Whose is that?"
"It's yours if you want it."
"Thank you, Patrick! She's beautiful!" He looked at the smooth lines, the long, folded wings, and sighed. "This is my fondest wish."
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