Zhen Lin Shi rose from her sleep abruptly as the transport ship lurched to a stop. The passengers that joined her on the eight-hour journey began to stir from their chairs as a tinny feminine voice announced that the ship had arrived at a place called Tsiolkovsky Station and repeated the message in Chinese. 

Zhen groaned at the mere thought of getting to her feet again. She had been traveling from station to station for the better part of a year now, and this last stretch had been one of her most pleasant traveling experiences by far.   Arriving at a small trade way-point station deep in UTS space, she had done last-minute bookkeeping for a trader whose accountant took ill, and he had given her a substantial amount of money as payment, enough for a decent seat on a flight to this station and a good meal (a human delicacy called a BLT). She was harassed by a racist customs official for "looking too wealthy for what she was", but comparatively she would have still taken it over scrounging to get the cheapest flight on one of the older bulk passenger ships. Sure the leather seats on this flight weren't perfect, but compared to flying towards the back end of nowhere on a glorified cargo ship, the trip to this station was practically luxurious.

Noticing the crowded line to the exit thinning, she delicately got out of her chair and began milling towards the exit, trying not to draw much attention to herself. Slowly moving towards the rear of the plan, she heard the telltale sounds of a customs official interview. Bracing herself for the worst, Zhen forced herself into a more dignified pose as she stepped off the ship. There were a couple of teams there, and she found herself directed to a gray-haired older man with striking resemblance to a Xiang vulture, assisted by a younger looking Asian official with short dark hair and a round face standing off to the side, who actually smiled politely at her when she approached. The vulture-like man, on the other hand, looked offended at everything about her, from her well-worn clothes to her blue-streaked tendrils.

"Great, another one of these four-eyed punks," the official mumbled irritably. "You want to translate for this one, Chang?"

"My name is Russel, Captain..."

"I speak English fluently, sir," Zhen said respectfully. The vulture man looked briefly surprised at her sudden understanding of English before sheepishly returning his focus to his small datapad.

"Name?" he demanded.

"Zhen Lin Shi."

"Search her bag," the vulture captain ordered his assistant. Shaking his head, 'Russel' stepped forward to look through the rucksack that Zhen handed him, while the captain asked a few more questions. She recited the details of her alternate persona flawlessly, thanks to months of practice. It didn't sit well with her to be so dishonest, but Zhen didn't want to broadcast that she was exiled royalty while she traveled along the galaxy. She didn't know if her uncle was still trying to catch her or not, but Zhen had no intention of making that job more necessary by drawing attention to herself. 

"...and your reason for visiting?" the captain finally asked her.

"I'm looking for work," she responded.

"You should talk to the barman at the Asimov Lounge, name's O'Brien," Russel interrupted, handing the rucksack back to Zhen unharmed. "Look for the big sign at the end of the promenade, can't miss it."

"Right, you're free to go," the vulture captain said bluntly, still staring at the information on his datapad.

"Welcome to Tsiolkovsky Station!" Russel continued brightly as his superior called for someone else to come over. Zhen bowed respectfully to both of them and scurried off, deeply relieved that the disembarking went easier then expected. Ignoring the overhead instructions directing passengers to the baggage claim area, as she already carried everything she owned, Zhen wandered around the docking bay before finding a lift in the back area and riding it until she reached a level designated as the civilian deck. Stepping off into the soon to be populated Promenade area, Zhen felt more optimistic then she had in a long time. Tsiolkovsky Station at a glance wasn't much different from any of the dozen or so spaceports she visited during her exile, but there was certainly something more inviting about this place compared to everywhere else. Zhen couldn't quite put her finger on what drew her to this station of all places, but as she looked at all the vendors and shopkeepers setting up for the evening rush, she couldn't help but feel that after so many days of wandering, going hungry, being harassed by xenophobes, and sleeping on hard metal surfaces, things were going to be okay.

Finally, Zhen reached a set of large open doors with a sign overhead, reading "Asimov Lounge". The familiar sounds of an interstellar bar suddenly reminded her of how thirsty she was. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a few leftover coins from the quick bookkeeping job at the last station. Thinking it would be enough to get a small drink once she talked to the 'O'Brien' who owned the Lounge, she stepped through the doors in her usual dignified manner, taking a moment to look around at all the strange ancient human curios, especially the physical pool table. The game had fascinated her the first time she saw it, and no matter where she went she always took the time to play a few games. She had gotten pretty decent at it too, and had won herself a meal on more then one occasion with a little craftiness. The chance to play on a real, physical pool table was extremely tantalizing, but Zhen restrained herself, promising to indulge once she found some employment first. Distracted from the strange crowd assembled at the bar, she took a seat at the far end, closest to the pool table she was admiring from a distance.