The Chub is my favourite frame. It's tough, it's reliable, and every engineer from Jakarta to Alpha Centauri knows how to repair it using nothing but duct tape. Of course, it's a pain to retro-fit with air filters, jets or any of that other fancy stuff, but it's not like we need it here. Not even the lion-scorpion things have anything more dangerous than claws, and those won't do you much good in a gunfight.

The ponies are nice. The food's good. Nothing to do but lift pay and enjoy life.

Short Mobile Frame Zero: Rapid Attack crossover. Written for pure self-satisfaction. Rated teen for robot violence.

The Second Age of Sail, I often hear this era called. Personally, I think the very definition of irony should be that we would have to develop spaceflight, nuclear fusion and ways to reach worlds beyond our own just to circle back to using wind-powered vessels. Not that I really care how this old bird gets from port to port, the important thing is that the drinks are cheap and the work is good—in that specific order.

I'm a free mariner. My domain is wherever the wind blows, and my sovereign is none. If you can respect those rules... welcome aboard.