2024.05.04 Awkward Moments Plumb Local Socialization

I had to pause before opening up my ship to this port, so I could collect myself. To hold onto all the things I've learned about myself, and consciously recognize the truth of them. Because this is a hard place to be: the place I'm originally from. And they think they know me here. It's awfully easy to become what other people tell you that you are, and it very rarely serves you well.

Grey light from overcast skies bundled between rocky peaks flooded my hatch, and my hand reflexively went to drag my helmet over my head so I could see better - but I stopped. To stride out of my ship with my helm already in place sends a message, and if I had any hope of making this go well I needed to appear relaxed. So instead I shrugged on a cloak to obscure my habitual gear, and met the tech ambling towards my still-pinging ship.

"Cargo or repairs?"

I give them a terse shake of my head. "Nothing right now. Maybe later." They give me a squint, to wonder wordlessly about why I'm even here then. "I pre-paid the landing fee and parking for a day on my way in. But..." I dip my chin and make sure to catch their eye. "Try to keep folks from getting to near to her. The security system is a little aggressive."

The tech gave a glance at the well-patched hull, and gave me a shrug. A worried little part of me thought there was a good chance I'd be scraping a charred limb of theirs off of the hull later on, and hoo-boy that would definitely make future visits home even more awkward.

Wending my way past other parked ships, I eventually made it through the personnel gate. It stood open, as it does generally - other than in times of trouble. Apparently I couldn't help but make an amused face at the backwater half-assery of the security measures as I walked through, because one of the guards sitting in the guard station yelled down. "Something funny, stupid face?"

Stupid face? I have a feeling I know that guy. Probably doesn't recognize me, though. Not yet, anyway.

"Nope." I keep walking, and head toward the public transit station.

No crowds here. Which makes sense, this is hardly a busy port of call. And this is the end of the line for the train, so it's completely empty when it glides into station. The meta-ads for taxis suddenly drop their prices before the train stops, as a last-ditch plea for my credits. But if I wanted to glide into town in a hopper directly to where I was going, I would have just taken my own out of the hold.

The train glides to a stop at the next branch - which connects to the industrial district. District is a bit of a laugh - it's a section of valley out of sight of the main town habitants, where the large ugly machines of industry can efficiently turn materials and effort into credits and means to do more things. And most of both of those are generally heading off-world. Or, at least, out of town.

Onto the train, fresh off of shifts of grimy toil, several burly people trundle wearily. I don't stare, but I watch them, doing that thing I can't stop myself from doing every time I'm here: asking myself, "Do I know them?".

Perhaps because of my watching them, however low-key I think I'm being, or perhaps just because I'm an oddity on this train, they watch me back. I imagine them thinking to themselves, "Do I know that person?" I'm not broadcasting any contact details, and neither are they, and it's likely that nobody actually recognizes anybody right then. I knew that I wasn't sure about who any of them were, though vaguely familiar aspects suggested that I would if I knew more - but I wouldn't have made any fuss even if I did actually recognize anybody here. Unlike the folk in this town, who in my experience unfailingly make a fuss over discovering someone.

Of course, several of them get the standard far-away expression of someone concentrating on media or comms. Which, in my standard paranoia, translates into at least one of them sending an image of me to someone else asking, "Do we know this person?" So it goes.

The next stop slides up almost immediately, and several well-worn characters parade into the train. Beaten long coats budding with off-putting personality cover unknown arrays of concealed items. The trio grin lasciviously at the weary labourers, a couple of whom lift their chins in mildly contemptuous acknowledgement. One of the trio give a theatrical look around the train, as though checking that the coast is clear, and glaces at me. I don't look particularly official or enforcement-like, so their gaze swept past me. But then they blinked and looked sharply back.

"Hey! It's you! When did you get back, man?"

I spread my fingers and hands in an Anurian gesture of honesty. "Just landed."

He gestures to the other two with a 'continue on without me, I'll be just a moment' sort of shrug and wave. They sidle up to the more-receptive labourers, while Kayson turns back to me. "Wait. Didn't you have, like, a whole thing happen?"

"It wasn't what people were saying."

Kayson's arms gesticulate with big motions, showing glimpses of non-standard med-kits gripped underneath. "Well, obviously not! You have non-robotic legs, for starters. And your head appears to still be attached, and you don't appear to be choking on shit."

I can feel myself squinting at his loud, possibly intentional obliviousness. "Yeah, no. The whole 'ripping off a persons head and shitting down their neck' is just colourful turn of phrase."

He winks conspiratorially at me. "Yeah, yeah, man. It's very action-packed and got some interesting visuals."

And just like that, I'm unsure of myself. Is this another classic case of Kayson feigning insight with parroted commentary, and actually being a mostly-harmless doofus? Or maybe some neurophysical/chemical happening has expanded his capabilities beyond the doofus I knew, and he's actually plying my reactions for information and is no longer quite so 'mostly' in his harmlessness? I lower my eyelids briefly to consider the probabilities, and my math co-processors burp up an entirely uninspiring array with very few holes to have leverage.

I give a tight smile, as genuine as I can manage. "Speaking of action-packed, how have things been here on the Rock for you since I last saw you?"

Kayson diverts immediately into an anxious sway and awkward head-jerking motions behind his emphatic arm gestures. It's a 99%-identical performance to the ones I remember him doing, save with some different names and events sprinkled in among the familiar places. Same old Kayson, I guess.

The next station isn't as close as the train can take me to my planned trip to the city center, but it's a way to make my departure from Kayson with a modicum of grace. Plus it would be good to get more of a direct feel for how the old home town is doing, instead of sorting through carefully manicured social media. This station is midway between a park and the local hospital. Both brimming with unpleasant memories. But I aim my footsteps towards the main drag and trawl the local scene.

It's totally dead. Aside from an intermittent stream of older hoppers going occasionally to and fro, I see no activity outside.

I mean, I'm not sure what I was expecting. A quick sort of my math co-processors suggests that I had fallen victim, yet again, to an availability heuristic - unintentionally estimating what is likely biased toward what is vivid and emotionally charged. All my memories of encounters on this selfsame drag through town blotted out how the vast majority of the time there's really nothing going on.

Saying like that - in my head, obviously - has a contemptuous edge to it. But, really, in the core of me, I like the quiet. The peace that possible to find inside one's self here is pretty great, and an important aspect of myself.

Of course, the way in which the other parts of me like things to happen promptly finds that time passes entirely too slowly here. But that's not a problem for this visit. I shouldn't be staying long enough for that effect to bother me. And, honestly, there isn't much that I need to wait for any more - I'm remarkable capable of making what I want happen. It's part of why I left.

Oh shit - Riverside is gone. I liked hanging out there. Hardly ever got beat up there, and there were cool games and snacks. Now it's, what? A family restaurant? I guess the upside is that they won't hold that grudge about me pretending to have a bomb any more. Ah - good times.