A sleek, curvy "projectile" terminated a suborbital trajectory above a sparsely populated area of the Pacific Northwest of North America, its shields glowing white from the heat of re-entry.

As it cooled, the shields faded, revealing the sleek aerodynamic lines of a Rolls-Straton Intercontinental Vapor Stream, a Terran top-of-the-line grav sedan.

Streaking across the upper atmosphere, it rapidly descended towards a small cabin and workshop nearby a picturesque river.

As the cabin became visible, an old woman stepped outside and looked upward, squinting in the sunlight.

When the Rolls landed, the door opened to reveal a well-dressed olive-skinned man who stepped out and put on a classic bowler hat.

Doreen strode forward.

"There you are, you old alley cat," Doreen said as she stretched out her arms to embrace her visitor.

"And how are you, you hoary old wolf," the man said in a posh British accent as he warmly returned her hug.

"Not as good as you," she said as she stepped back and looked him up and down. "Savile Row?"

"Oh please," the man scoffed, "Overpriced and overrated. Luna Eight."

"Is that how you could afford that old beater over there?" Doreen snickered. "Its hood ornament is worth more than my whole place."

"You know perfectly well you could be in every bit as good a position as I am," the man replied, "Better, even, but no. You would rather squat out here in the wilderness."

"The fishing's better." Doreen smiled. "Come on in. I'll make us some tea."

***

"This is a lovely shop!" Evan Dupree, master gunsmith for Hopkins and Elder, one of the foremost London gun makers, said as he admired Doreen's setup.

"It's not bad," she said with just the right amount of pride.

"Is this an actual Krupp-Dyson?!?" he exclaimed as he squatted, still holding his mug, to examine an old lathe.

"With hand-scraped ways," Doreen smugged. "done by someone who actually knew what he was doing."

"Fucking hell..." he muttered.

"Not for sale," Doreen said as he rose.

"If it was," he replied, "I would call your family. You would clearly be no longer fit to make your own decisions..."

He smiled,

"Right after my men loaded the truck, of course..."

Doreen laughed.

"You going to be submitting anything to the expo this year?" Evan asked.

"I'm thinking about doing a couple of pieces," Doreen replied, "Let everyone know I'm not dead yet."

"We will be happy to give you some space in our area if you would like," Even said. "No sense you renting a spot for just a rifle or two."

"Thanks!" Doreen smiled. "I owe you… wait..."

"No take backs!" he said firmly.

"Goddammit," Doreen chuckled. "What did you cross half of the planet to ask me for?"

"Well..." Evan said as he finished his tea. "I have this client..."

"Oh, Jesus Christ..."

Evan smiled thinly.

"She has become absolutely consumed with the desire for a 'genuine First Nations long rifle'."

Doreen laughed.

"Did you tell her that a 'genuine First Nations long rifle' doesn't exist?"

"I've tried," Evan sighed, "Believe me, I have tried…"

Doreen shook her head.

"So Hopkins and Elder is seeking the services of a traditional First Nations gunsmith to assist us in capturing the… um… 'spirit' of this fictional weapon," Evan continued. "When I think First Nations, I think of you. Would you please help an old brigand out?"

Doreen smiled.

"If I'm getting a cut of a Hopkins and Elder price tag," she replied smoothly, "I'll build anything you want and call it anything you want. I'm kind of a whore that way."

"Your' side hustle' is your own," Evan smirked, "I am solely concerned with the weapon."

"You weren't like that fifty years ago," Doreen chuckled, "Did your pencil run out of lead already?"

"My' pencil' is perfectly fine, thank you," Evan replied and then added with a mischievous smile, "I have paid good money to ensure that fact."

They both laughed.

"So," Doreen said after the laughter subsided, "What does the Eurotrash princess think a 'First Nations long rifle' is?"

"Japanese princess, actually," Evan said, "Apparently, she went on a culling expedition with Chief Hebert of the..."

Evan pulled out a tablet and stared with confusion at the word confronting him.

"Chitimacha," Doreen said helpfully. "Nice guy. I think I know what she is juicing her drawers over. She said it was long, right?"

"She even took a picture," Evan said as he showed Doreen his tablet.

"Yeah, that's what I thought it was," Doreen said. "It's just a fancy forty-five seventy black powder arc-lock break action. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's a quality piece, but there's nothing that special about it."

"You've seen it then?"

"Hell," Doreen chuckled, "I've shot it. It's a sweet rifle, but the 'magic' part of the weapon is Chief Hebert. The man is a stupidly good shot and has used that exact same rifle since before Yellowstone. It being custom fitted to him doesn't hurt, either. If princess-san is expecting the same results, the little cherry blossom will be sadly disappointed."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"I believe she was just enamored with the aesthetics," Evan replied. "She continually enthused about how beautiful it was."

"Yeah, it is pretty," Doreen replied, "His wife did most of it. When they killed her, he went on the warpath. The bayous were red instead of black for quite a while after that. He did most of it with that exact rifle."

"Dark times..." Evan said as he looked downward into nothing.

"Yeah..." Doreen sighed.

"Oh well," Evan said as he looked up, "Both blood and water flow under bridges, right?"

"So they say," Doreen smirked. "The important thing is that making a 'genuine First Nations Long Rifle' won't be a hassle, and setting up a Chitimacha artisan to do the embellishing will be easy enough. I know of one person in particular who has the chops for your level."

"So you will manufacture the actual firearm," Evan replied, "pass it over to the artisan, and then we will broker the sale. Standard commission and rates?"

"For me, yeah," Doreen replied, "The esteemed and venerable Mister Crawdaddy, however, will demand payment up front because he's like that. I'll cover the work and take the full slice for the both of us."

"Deal," Evan said, extending his hand.

Doreen shook it and grinned.

"Easy money," she chuckled. "I haven't built a forty-five seventy single barrel in a long time. I'm looking forward to this."

"And I'm looking forward to getting my hands on a 'genuine First Nations Doreen Richardson'. Those actually do exist."

"So they say," Doreen chuckled.

Evan looked around the shop.

"So how's your grand… oh hello..."

Evan leaned forward to admire a wooden stock on a checkering cradle.

"Is this your work?"

"Nope," Doreen replied proudly, "my apprentice is knocking that out. Pretty good, huh?"

Evan just stared at the intricate checkering and engraving on the stock.

"This is exceptional work… and very unique."

"So is my apprentice," Doreen snickered. "I had to get onto him about that piece, though."

"Whatever for?"

"Because the client requested and paid for a LOT less," Doreen scoffed, "The adorable little idiot has a problem with giving things away for free AND 'helping' by doing things that the client didn't specify for because it 'looks nicer'. Fortunately, it isn't the original stock, so I could just cut another one. He's going to finish this one and put it on Flea-Bay. I have the suspicion that he will bring in a few credits off of this piece."

"How long has he been training?"

"He hasn't," Doreen said as she shook her head. "This is what he walked into the shop with. Imagine what he will be doing in a couple of years."

"Can I meet him?" Evan asked.

"So you can poach him?" Doreen laughed, "Forget it. Besides, he isn't here. He's taking a few days off."

"Is he taking advantage of the local fishing?"

"Not this time," Doreen smiled.

***

In Seattle, Jeruzz was happily slithering around in a recycling dumpster.

"Nope… nope… nope..." he said happily as he nosed open boxes and wiggled his head near various items.

"Ooo!" he exclaimed as he spied an interesting-looking electronic thingy out of the corner of his eye. He extended his tongue and gripped the little device with some of the little branches already starting to grow from the main muscle.

He was healing really fast. He would be able to help Doreen much better in no time.

That made him happy.

He managed to free the electronic device and pulled it close to his face. It looked intact, and the screen wasn't broken, but he had absolutely no idea what it was.

It was probably broken, but it was pretty, and it would be something he could practice what Doreen called 'engraving' on.

He just called what he did doodles like every other sensible Keth did.

He still didn't understand how, but Doreen was convinced that it would make him a lot of money, and Doreen was really smart, even smarter than a normal Terran, and any normal Terran was smarter than he was.

He knew he wasn't smart, but he also knew he wasn't stupid. It would be stupid to not practice doodling because he couldn't see how it would make him money, and Doreen (who was much smarter) could.

She was smarter.

The whole thing confused him a little, but he was used to that. It would all make sense, eventually…

...he hoped.

***

Syd, wearing a black leather jacket with a bright turquoise, green, and gold snake embroidered on the back, pulled her little Vespyr electric scooter (with hand-painted oriental dragons on each side) to a stop by the alley behind Techworkx, an electronics store, and maker's boutique.

They always had the best scrap.

Hopping off of her scooter, she trotted into the alley. What she was doing wasn't illegal. It was actually sort of encouraged. However, a lot of places did not want people crawling through their dumpsters and making messes. She could get run off if they caught her.

It was no big deal, but it was a hassle, and there was always the chance that they could "trespass her out" and bar her from the property. The dumpster would still be fair game, but she liked shopping there.

Techworkx was pretty cool about things, though. As long as you weren't making a mess or being stupid, they would usually let you rummage, depending on who was the manager of that shift. It was part of their "cool" image. Some assholes made a huge mess not that long ago, though, and she was a little worried that they were still mad about it.

Nervously, she tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, revealing the end of a snake tattoo on her arm.

She paused.

Parked in the alleyway was a…

holy shit

Parked in the alleyway was an actual vintage Flying Swallow!

"Oh my God..." she muttered as she pulled out her phone to take a few pictures.

It was a vintage Flying Swallow bubble scooter in excellent condition, her dream ride.

She took several snaps from all angles as she admired it.

It was beautiful, especially its custom paint job. She just loved all the happy little dots!

It was perfect.

After spending a few more moments admiring it. (and stealthily touching it a little) She turned her attention to the dumpster.

She started to make an angry face as she saw a little pile of rubbish lying on the ground outside the dumpster and then gasped as she saw a snake's tail swishing about.

Did someone just… abandon their snake?

Did it get out somehow?

She cautiously approached.

"Easy there," she crooned, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The snake's tail darted into the bin…

...and was rapidly replaced by a large serpentine head with big eyes.

"Why would I think you were going to hurth me?" the snake asked.

"Holy shit!" Syd exclaimed as she jumped back.

Startled, the snake darted back into the bin.

***

"...So..." Syd said a few minutes later, "You are not a snake. You are a… Keth?"

"Yesth!" Jeruzz exclaimed happily. "I get misthaken for a sthnake a loth… even by animalths."

"Wow!" Syd exclaimed, "That is so cool!"

An awkward silence started to form.

"Um..." Syd said as she nervously tugged gently on one of her snake earrings, "were you… um… hunting in there?"

"Just for scrapth!" Jeruzz said happily, "I reeely shouldnth hunth prey here. Ith would be a bad idea."

Jeruzz flowed out of the dumpster, and Syd's eyes widened.

He was big, easily over two meters long, and very thick.

Jeruzz happily started loading the pieces of salvage he had found into the storage compartments of his scooter.

"That's yours?!?" Syd exclaimed.

"Yepth!" Jeruzz burbled proudly.

"It is so cool! Where did you get the paint done?"

"I did ith myselfh!"

"Oh wow! You're an artist, too?"

"No, I'm a gunsmith…" Jeruzz said with a touch of confusion, "well… an apprentice anyway."

"Neat! You got your certificate?" Syd asked.

"Nopeth," Jeruzz replied, "I goth the job because… Ith's a long thorry, but I got ith!"

"Cool… cool..." Syd replied desperately trying to come up with something interesting to say to the most interesting being she had met in like, forever.

"Ith's been reeely nice tho meeth you!" Jeruzz exclaimed happily as he started to climb into his bubble scooter.

“Hey… um… Jeruzz?" Syd blurted.

"Yesth?"

"Would you… um… like to get some coffee or something?"

"Sure!" Jeruzz said happily, "I love mething new people!"

"Great!" Syd exclaimed, blushing slightly.

***

"...and thath's how I wound up working with Doreen!" Jeruzz said as he sipped his iced mocha with extra whip through a straw.

"Holy shit!" Syd exclaimed. "That's fucking wild!… I don't know whether to say I'm sorry you went through all of that or if I should congratulate you or… fuck… dude… Your homeworld sucks, man."

Jeruzz nodded.

"Buth, now I can send monies back tho my family!" Jeruzz exclaimed happily, "And my little brothers and sisthers don't have to go into the factory and can go tho school, and my mom doesn'th have to work anymore in thath horrible plathe. Thisth isth why I wenth through all of thath. I thook a risk and ith paid off!"

"Damn..." Syd said, a bit awestruck, "and here I am just a Gia."

“A Gia?” Jeruzz asked.

"Oh," Syd scoffed, "A 'guaranteed income artist'. That means I'm a 'burden on society'," she snarked. "My story is a lot more boring. Both my parents were killed, my father in the Great War and my mother on Red Sunday. I was too young to go to war and too old to have any real hope of being adopted, so I just sort of hung out in the system while I aged out."

Jeruzz let out a strangled squeak as he grasped Syd's hand with his tail.

"And you were all alone?"

"So were a lot of other people," she shrugged. "I wasn't alone, not really. There were a lot of us in the same boat. The foster care system was swamped, so any home placements were reserved for young kids. The rest of us were set up in 'residential schools' where we finished our school and waited to age out."

"Age out?"

"Reach eighteen," Syd replied, "so the Republic didn't have to worry about us anymore… 'Happy Birthday, Syd!'" she said sardonically, "Pack your shit."

"And they just threw you out?"

"It's not like I was going to starve," Syd replied, "I mean, I was completely set up with benefits, so I don't have to worry about much. With benefits and my guaranteed income, I really don't have a lot to worry about. I have my own apartment and everything."

She sipped her coffee.

"You mean you can just do nothing and get paid?" Jeruzz asked in complete disbelief, "That makes no sense."

"A lot of people would agree with you," Syd replied. "I don't feel in a position to have an opinion. Of course, I'm all for it..."

She sighed.

"You gotta 'contribute to the Republic', though," Syd said, "… somehow. I mean… you just gotta. Otherwise, you're just a worthless piece of shit."

Syd pulled out her tablet.

"So I'm an 'artist'!" she said sardonically and pulled up her portfolio. "Sure, it's not hyperspace science, nor am I a Terran Marine, not that I would ever be able to do that… But I can make pretty pictures and shit… or use salvaged materials and repurpose them into stuff people will buy and use again… I turn trash into other trash..."

She looked down.

"At least it's something… Y'know…so I'm not..."

"These are really pretty!" Jeruzz exclaimed, utterly oblivious to the deeper meaning of Syd's monologue. "I really like the yellow one! It makes me happy!"

"It… It does?" Syd said, a bit surprised.

"Yes!" Jeruzz enthused, "And this blue one… It's… It makes me… not happy exactly but not sad either… It's… strong?"

Syd's eyes sparkled happily.

"And I just love these cups!" Jeruzz said as he happily scrolled through the pictures, "Doreen would just love some of those! Could you make us some?"

"I think I still have some of those in my apartment," Syd said and then paused.

"You could come over and take a look at them?" Syd said a bit shyly, "Maybe we could hang out… maybe Vidflix and chill?"

"Vidflix and chill?"

"Oh, sorry… you're a xeno..." Syd said, a bit embarrassed, "that's where we hang out and watch movies on Vidflix."

"Oh, that sounds fun!" Jeruzz enthused, "I love movies!"

***

"Hi, Doreen!" Jeruzz said into his phone hours later.

"How's it going?" Doreen replied, "It's getting late. You get lost?"

"Oh, I'm staying over at a new friend's house!"

"You sure?" Doreen asked. "How new is this new friend."

"I just meth her thoday! She's really nice! We're having loths of fun! She makes the prethiest picthures. We've been drawing loths of stuff thogether. I have painth all over me! So much fun!"

"Okay..." Doreen replied, "Suit yourself."

"I have tho go!" Jeruzz exclaimed, "The piztha justh arrived! We're going to have some before we thake a bath and do something called Vidflix and chill!"

"Wat."