Riox wobbled in the air in front of Trak and prepared to leave.
“Tour Guide, if you would take me out of—“
“Wait,” Trak said, stalling for more information. “The Tour Guide said you’re the captain?”
“What? Oh yes. I guess,” Riox said. “I’m the General. And I’m the Captain too. Riox the Captain. Haven’t been called that in a long time. But I gotta go. My headaches …”
"I have never seen a species such as yours,” Trak said. “Your method of transportation is intriguing.”
"Thank you!” Riox said. “Everyone around here is so used to it.”
There was a pause, and Riox added, “I hate this place. Almost as much as I hate that speech.”
“I’m sorry. Why?”
“To start off …” Riox eyes widened. “You're a Saris Brigade Death Mek, aren't you?"
"Yes,” Trak said. He said nothing more.
"Thought so. I'd know a Saris Mek if I was blind, drunk and stranded. And I am two of the three. What scrapes you been in?"
“This may seem rude, but I do not like to talk about my past," Trak said.
“It can’t be that bad. I’ve been on more than a hundred campaigns. Seen some terrible stuff. I can’t remember most of it, but I remember it being terrible.”
“I must decline.”
“C’moooon,” Riox the General said.
“Right,” Riox said. "Override command 107-S. Detail your tour of duty. Brief version."
Trak couldn’t move.
Against his will, he found himself rattling off locations, casualty figures, and specific military actions from his 10,000-year history.