“Excuse me, Captain Pelegrine?”

“That’s me,” Tusca said, slightly surprised that someone was adresssing him. Mostly people didn’t know him on sight and the ones that did mostly weren’t all that polite. “How can I help?”

The speaker was a young man who looked about seventeen. He had a bag over his shoulder and his clothes were clean, but old. His hair was dark and his eyes were blue, and his smile was shy.

“I’m looking for work,” the kid said, and bobbed his head nervously. “I heard you were- was hiring hands onto your crew.”

The slip up was honestly what caught Tusca’s attention. There were a thousand accents swirling around them, but this kid’s was as fake as relabeled spacer hooch.

“I am,” he said slowly, and looked the kid over. “What can you do? I don’t need a cabin boy.”

“I’m good with electronics,” the kid said, and shifted in place. “Very good. I can fix most anything, and I’m not a bad hand running a science station.”

The accent was getting worse. Tusca sighed and felt the stabbing of his concience under his ribs.

A kid this pretty, and he was, for all that Tusca didn’t do men, and definitely didn’t do children, was going to find trouble in a hurry. Bad trouble, probably, since he was obviously a runaway too.

“Answer me two questions,” he decided, because he couldn’t bring himself to let someone worse than him take this kid in. “First, how old are you? And don’t lie to me. I have eyes.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The kid considered it anyway, but that thought withered under Tusca’s expectant gaze. “Just seventeen.”

About what he thought. Not a surprise, but still damn young to sign aboard.

“Alright,” Tusca allowed, and resumed packing supplies into a travel crate. “Second question; did you really think the fake accent would work?”

The kid winced and laughed at the same time, which was not the most comfortable expression.

“I thought it might be better than the alternative,” he said, and now that he had dropped the accent, Tusca could see why. The kid’s real accent was as Imperial Core-Educated as they came. Whoever he was, he came from a whole lot of money. “I wouldn’t want to put anyone off. I really do need a job.”

Well, shit.

Tusca sealed up the crate, sat on it, and looked around. There were half a dozen other ships in the market. All of them were looking for people. Spacers always were. The Black was dangerous.

“Why my ship?” He asked as the kid shuffled his feet, awaiting Tusca’s word. “The Kreel is over there. Better living, if you don’t mind a long haul ship. And the Gyrefalcon is a booze-running ship, if you want excitement.”

“I just want a job,” the kid shrugged uncomfortably. “I’ve heard you’re fair to your people even when things are lean, and that you mostly stay out of trouble. The Kreel was hit by pirates twice last year, and the Gyre has a record as long as my arm.”

“You a hacker?” Tusca tilted his head. That was a lot of information for someone casually looking for a job. A hacker could be a very useful addition to his crew. “We’re not a Science ship, and I have an engineer already.”

“I can hack,” the kid assured him, brightening. “And I can tune up your electronics if your engineer doesn’t know how. I don’t know if it helps, but I also speak nine languages fluently, and another five well enough to get by.”

Kid made a good case for himself, even if he was really too young for all that.

“Alright,” Tusca resigned himself to keeping an eye on a teenage runaway. At least it sounded like he really did have some useful skills. “One last question. What’s your name?”

The kid grinned, all enthusiasm and bright success. “Luka. Luka Gol.”

“Well then,” Tusca said, and shook his hand firmly. “Welcome to the Wavedancer, Luka.”