At first sight Davis James might have looked like any other drunk-head who had enough, but something in those drowsy eyes suggested deepness and intelligence once shone behind them. This galaxy can make the most resilient souls bite the dust with frustration, and I learned not to judge too quickly. His manners and politeness, even when he could barely stand, caught my attention and made me sympathize with that old stranger.

We drank in the same room for weeks before we got to talk. Both of us used to choose a table in a dark corner and sit there alone and quiet, ordering one drink after another.  That day though the bar was unexpectedly full, with no shady spots available for me to settle in. I got myself a seat by the bar, ordered a shot of that amazing liquor of theirs and stood by, listening to the other pilots' chatter around me. The most vocal group was discussing the recent Thargoid incursions, boasting about their performance in the AX combat zones. One of them was really exalted and started to sing a tone deaf song with xenophobe lyrics.

"How many missiles does it take to get a bug down? Kill them all, kill them all! F**k them up their giant green asses, exterminate the pests, burn their nests!"

The youngsters were still rejoicing when a surprisingly clear voice arose from the opposite corner of the bar counter.

— And you think killing something before understanding it is the best strategy?

Trying to sound amused, but actually feeling dared, the soldier replied with another question:

— Do you happen to have a better idea, grandpa? Sit down and wait for them to wipe us out, maybe?

Mr. James was older than most of us, but surely wasn't an elder. Ignoring the childish provocation, he tried to contemporize:

— I am just saying it's best for us not to think with our guts.

— Oh, so you are one of those bug lovers. "Make love, not war" in this case sounds painful!

His friends laughed hard like fifth graders.

— Of course not. I had family on Titan's Daughter, I deeply resent that attack. But I also know they wouldn't do it out of the blue.

— How could you possibly know that? And does it even matter now?

A security camera blinked, a commander I didn't noticed before approached the group and listened closely. Suddenly, Davis seemed worried.

— Forget it. It was just a hunch.

He transferred the due credits to the bartender and left the place at once, leaving a cup still half full behind. Needless to say that, by that point, I was so damn curious - something that haven't happened to me in a long time. So I also paid my bill and rushed after him.

But what do you know, right? From starving freelancer to head of diplomacy in five years.

I remember arriving in Ida Dhor for the first time. I was attracted to the region by the mining rush in Borann, the galactic Serra Pelada, and that system had the closest hi-tech station around. It was perfect for refitting my mining vessel and take on the journeys ahead - improving your jump range helps a lot when trying to get to the best LTD buying markets fast and in one piece.

So I wasn't exactly poor by that time - between washing dishes and delivering mail for pennies, transporting refugees and illegal cargo for bucks, and mining the shit out of countless rocks and selling it to the right people for millions, I had made a good amount of credits and built myself a reputation with anyone who mattered. Those long hauling nights were serving more as a void filling activity, an automated strategy for killing time, as all that money and ass kissing wasn't doing it for me anymore. I was starting to lose overall motivation and didn't know where to head from there. Grown tired of the emptiness inherent to fancy stuff, I became a regular at a small shithole spacebar which, in its defense, served one of the best liquors I have ever had.

That's when I met this lovely old grumpy shrink, Dr. Davis James. And things start to change.