Izma hadn't signed up for this. 

All he wanted to do was go about life, happy and working. If it could help people, that would be even better. 

But now here he was, Pirates on his tail, his scraps lost, and now a small child guacking at him like he was a sort of mystical being. Izma guessed he couldn't blame the kid, though. After all, the people on ground level put his kind on the same pedistle as Aliens. And being from space itself definatly didn't help his case. 

He had gotten this look so many times, you wouldn't have blamed him when his kind aproach suddenly went up in smoke. His posture stiffened as he took a step back and glared. Who was this kid? Why was Izma's name important to him? He observed quietly. Pip was small, only about 5'2 or 5'4, with a soft build and tan skin. His unnaturally red hair was in fluffy knots that stuck out in every direction, and his nose perked up in a way that reminded Izma of a button. One of Pips eyes drooped a bit to the side, and was clouded. His other eye was a deep hazle that stared with earnest awe. The clouded eye ruled him out from being a Red Coat, as poor depth perseption might impare his ability for combat. Izma thought the Red Coats would never send their weaker soldiers for things like this.

But if not a spy, then who was he?

"... You've... Heard of me?" Izma's voice must have betrayed his wariness, because Pip snapped out of his daze and imidiatly took up a reassuring tone. "My friend's heard of you origonally through a radio brodcast, only hearing you were a Valhallie. After some faurther digging, we found the place where you typically set up shop as well as the name you go by. We came here in hopes of finding more information, and split up to look for you."

There were more of them, here looking for him. An unknown number, so Izma assumed aroun ten. 'Friends' down here typically ment a smaller group, but it was certain that now this group knew who he was, and where he regularly worked. It was too late to disengage, because the kid now knew what he looked like, and probobly wouldn't stop looking for him. Am I going to have to relocate to another coloney after this? Atticus wouldn't appreciate that. Maybe I could go alone. I know how to live down here now, it wouldn't be so bad. But I cant just leave Atticus like that... 

"...and thats kinda why I'm here. So... what do you think?" Izma looked up to see Pip looking at him expectantly. Oh sugar, was he still talking? Izma looked at him causiously "I'm sorry, I dont quite understand. What are you wanting?" 

"I was wondering if you could help me? You know, get to the space station you're from?"

Oh.

Oooh.

"You mean the Valhalla 7?" Izma asked. Pip nodded excitedly. That makes sense, Izma thought. "And your'e expecting me to help you with this somehow?" Pip cocked his head to the side, questioningly. "Well, I was more hoping, you see? Like I said, I wasn't even really expecting to find you, and- wait, what do you mean somehow? Is it not just a ship?" 

Izma thought for a second, weighing out the options. The kid didn't seem like a threat, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad of an idea.. maybe he could even help him...

"Follow me. We're going to my workshop."

As Izma turned heal and started walking, Pip squacked and jogged to keep up. "Right now?! Shouldn't we-" "Now or never, kid. Keep up! We have a bit of a walk." 

Izma had led Pip through the streets of Settlment 372B, through overcrouded streets, packed buildings, all the way to the outskirts of town, where a makeshift graveyard sat overflowing with tombstones, most looking recent. He led Pip a little ways into the desert, to a small, well hidden bunker. His meaningless chatter dropped off as Izma climbed into the door. "What? Whats the problem?" Izma asked, and Pip shifted from side to side. "I um, don't really... Look, its not that I don't trust you, its just..." He trailed off, and Izma understood.

"You can keep your weapon on you, and I'll even hand you mine. The door can stay unlocked and open, plus I'll stand at least 10 feet away from you as often as I can. I'm not sure what else I can do to make you feel safer, but let me know if there is. I promise I don't intend to harm you." Pip relaxed just a bit, and Izma de-sholdered his staff and rolled it to the kid, who hesitently picked it up.

They entered quietly, and as Izma fired up an old generator, Pip servayed the area. Florecent lights spazzed and flickered to life, illuminating a 50ft by 50ft workshop with relitivly high ceilings. tools hung from the walls, and there were three large workbenches filled with projects (incompleat guns and a variety of electric-shock typw weapons), pushed out of the way to make room, A trap door hidden under the farthest one. Smack in the center, hanging from the stone ceiling, was a huge pair of metalic wings, torn open and in the process of being worked on. "Woah... are these... do they...?"

Izma looked over to see Pip lightly hovering his hand over the wiring, and smiled just a bit. "Those are my wings. Modified them myself, so that they could hold up to Earths gravitational pull and still work. Kinda difficult to do, but I made it happen. They used to be fully functional, but as you can see, thats no longer the case." Pip observed closely. "Looks like the main power blew out. Can't you just fix that and be fine?" Izma looked over, attentive. "Yeah, thats exactly what happened. You would think its that simple, wouldn't you? However, the problem is, the main power source used Coswalt. It's common in astroids and other cosmic bodys, but not so much in Earthen mines."

Pip nodded in apprehension, which suprised Izma. "So basically you need to either make a power source that uses Earthan materials, which would be very difficult to do without fully remodling the entire mechanism, or you have to somehow find, harvest, and prosess this Coswalt here on earth." Izma stood, staring. "Yeah... spot on..." Pip kept on, examining the wings and messing with them a bit. "Hmm... if it were me, I would scrap the old ones and keep their design in mind while making the new set. but then again, I can see why you would want to just repair this one, seeing as thats the only problem. Plus how these are seemingly in a whole new lane of technology than the things we have down here. Hell, I'm not even sure if these would even be possible with Earthan technology..." 

Pip's observasions went into a incohearant mutter, as he roughly stitched together ideas about how one might construct such a contraption using Earthan materials. Izma stared, taken aback. Not even Atticus had been able to fully keep up when Izma rambled on about this, and he had found him to be the most compitant person on this planet. The education system was so poor down here that Izma had wondered if everyone thought that if they just hit a gun harder, it would start working again magically. The things he thought to be basic, easy knowlage turned out to be hyroglyphs here. So Pip, who was seemingly only 16-17 years old, picking up on this was stunning to Izma.

"Wait, what are these bits?" Pip gestered to the short pols in the middle of the contraption, and Izma glanced up a bit. "Oh, those? Thats how the wings connect to the back. Its so you can controll them with thought rather than an actual remote. You know, for quicker and more accurate movement." Pip stood there, a bit confused. "But... wouldnt that mean they have to hook up to your nervous system somehow? How would that even work out?" Izma hesitated a bit. "Well, when I first got this model, it was a relatively new procedure. So I'm not entirely sure how it goes, but basicly what they do is carve an inch wide whole circle in your back, allowing it to connect with your nervouse system easier." Pip looked disturbed. "That... shouldn't work..?" Izma shrugged, and leaned on the generator a bit. "Eh. I don't know all that much about it, and probobly never will. Thats just how it was done, and I was too young to ask questions."

Pip looked a bit grossed out. "So you just have... holes... in your back..?" he asked carefully. "Yeah, pretty much. Three of them, I assume one controls each wing and the tail. movement is fantastic, however its the self matanince that gets you." Izma rolled his shoulders and continued. "Have to keep the holes clean or they could get infected, the poles too. I used to take a medicin to help with the pain, but now I just take about 6 pain killers and hope for the best. Dont even get me started on the insert tubes, or showering-"

"Aaaand thats enough on that. Thanks. Never gonna do that. Gross. Ew." Pip said.

Izma laughed, understanding the sentiment.

Pip looked around the shop, and Izma sat at the generator, watching to make sure he didn't steal anything.

"So, are you stranded?" Pip asked. Izma looked confused. "I beg your pardon?" "You know, stranded. Most Valhalli never come to earth, and when they do they hardly stay to chat, let alone stay long enough to set up long-term shop. The radio implied you had been here for only a couple months, but some people say you had been here for at least a year." Izma nodded slowly, causiously. "I... You could say that, yes." He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. " I... crashed, about 7 months ago. As of right now, I have no way to get back to Valhalla 7, no. So you definatly could say I'm stranded." Pip's shoulders slumped, and Izma stared curiously. "So... you can't help me? You know, get to the ship?"

Izma hardly had to think when he answered.

"I never said that."