C'est ce que j'ai dit. C'est ce que j'ai dit.
Pendant un moment, la salle commune était calme — bien qu'elle n'ait jamais été vraiment silencieuse sur un navire, les lumières étaient basses, le moniteur principal était vide, et le réfrigérateur surdimensionné bombé le long en attente. L'excursionniste était un navire assez calme au milieu de la nuit artificielle, sauf à de rares occasions où il y avait un groupe d'étrangers ivres qui écoutaient invariablement de la musique terrible à plein souffle et personne ne dormait.
Puis l'interphone s'est effondré de la voix du capitaine, et le hush a été encore brisé par un fort crash alors que la lourde table centrale s'est effondrée, suivie d'une voix de gravier craquant des malédictions.
"Hashfed shatting' tchytkis—"
Il y avait un faible flux de malédictions invectives allant de légères à nausées, à mesure que les chaises étaient poussées sur le côté et que Pax émergeait. C'était une belle vue, une monstruosité rouge vif de sept pieds s'extrayant de sous une table construite pour des créatures beaucoup plus petites, mais elle réussit à ramper sur ses mains et ses genoux, en glissant entre Rigger et le Z nouvellement arrivé.
"Fuckin' A," Pax siffla, main sur les écailles lisses de sa tête alors qu'elle se déplaçait à sa pleine hauteur. Elle a ignoré les autres alors qu'elle continuait à murmurer à elle-même, faisant une ligne d'abeille pour la petite cuisine d'un côté. Elle sentait comme une distillerie, mais il n'y avait aucune trace d'alcool sous la table ou ailleurs dans la cuisine – s'il y avait une chose que Pax savait bien, c'était cacher la preuve de ses virages. Elle se griffa sur le nez pendant qu'elle creusait à l'intérieur du frigo, et finit par émerger avec ce qui ressemblait à une bouteille de gallons de slime vert dégoûtant – ce qui passait pour la ration de protéines sur le bateau Picker.
Elle s'assit fortement dans une chaise vide, à quelques endroits en bas de Z et en face de Rigger et du capitaine. La chaise crampait sous elle et grinçait alors qu'elle la ramenait en arrière, devant se plier presque en deux juste pour mettre ses coudes sur la table – pour une fois, elle n'enviait pas le poissonnier de sa taille. Un bâillet s'est cassé le visage alors qu'elle sortait le haut de sa ration du matin, ses dents pointues dorées-jaunes scintillent dans les lumières qui éclairent lentement.
Après avoir pris une perruque du gallon, elle a commencé par un bélier. Comme d'habitude.
-- Puisque je ne suis pas en retard, continua Pax, enveloppant un bras autour de la cruche de gallon — elle avait beaucoup d'expérience avec l'appétit de Z, merci — et enfilant sa joue de son autre côté. "Pourquoi on est réveillés?"
Pᴀx Qᴀɴʏᴋ

Theme Song: Chelsea Dagger - The Fratellis
”Hit the dipshit with that other dipshit!”


Name
Unpronounceable by human standards; usually spelled as Paxyqntrokqa Xuorkj Quahnykx
Nicknames
Pax, because it’s a damn sight easier to say than Paxyqntrokqa.
Big Red, for painfully obvious reasons (She’s big. And red.)
Position
Convict
Age
82; around 30 on a human scale
Gender
Female
Charged Crime(s) 
Smuggling, Property Destruction, Contempt of Court, Vandalism, Public Intoxication, Manslaughter, Murder, Arson
Reputation
Pax’s court case was almost boring, the only thing exceptional about it her race, since it’s highly unusual for a Trakq to flout the law, much less break it with as much enthusiasm as she did. Within the Pickers, though, she has a rep for being big, and mean, and kind of an asshole—don’t interrupt her, steal her seat, cut her in line, swipe her salvage, knock over her cup...just stay the hell away. But also she has a still in her room, and she can hook you up.
Appearance 
Trakqi are known for their size and vibrant coloring, and in those regards, Pax is no different. The red, gold, and black combination is rare and striking, and the markings extend all across her micro-scaled skin. Her six eyes are a brilliant crimson, but while the long, soft horns falling from her head to her shoulders are usually the pride and joy of her race, Pax’s are ringed by ropy scars, scaleless and colorless.
The scars don’t stop there, either—there are copious lines, puncture marks, and burns covering her scales. They somewhat mar the effect, but there are still some smooth patches that shine red-gold across her two sets of arms. As far as her facial features, among her own race she’d be considered something of a beauty, with her finely pointed ears, wide-set (and numerous) eyes, and broad, flat nose—but amongst most species she’s sort of an ugly duckling. As a Trakq, she also has twice the number of teeth a human does, and all are pointed. The little hair she does have looks like it’s been cut with a knife, and recently—while most Trakqi take great pride in long, multi-colored locks fashioned into elaborate braided styles, hers barely brushes her shoulders.
All Trakqi stand over six feet tall, with Pax pushing the upper range, and like most of her species she’s in peak physical condition. Each strand of muscle tissue is about ten times denser and stronger than a human’s, so there’s ten times the power packed into about the same space. Her bones and tissues are also denser and far more resistant to breakage, so although they’re durable, they’re also very heavy. Each Trakq has three fingers and two thumbs to each hand, feet that are closer to hooves than human, and some even have stubby dorsal spines, Pax included. Pax has taken her species’ natural physical advantages and honed them into an art form rather than taking her strength for granted.
Height 
7’0”
Weight 
400 pounds—Trakqi are very dense for their size
Personality
Ask anyone on a few prison ships scattered across the galaxy: Pax Qanyk is a dick. She’s vulgar, brash, loud, easily offended, usually tipsy, something of a slimeball...the insults go on and on. However, very few of those insulting her can say they don’t respect her. Sure, she’s an ass, but she tends to punch up rather than stomping on those beneath her weight class, and those who she does punch (usually) deserve it. She doesn’t sacrifice others just to get ahead—frankly, she seems just as disinterested in her own well being as anything else.
Pax’s size and general dickishness also hides a mind like a steel trap. While she’s only had occasion to show it once or twice while on prison ships or the Picker craft, she’s a tactical genius, on par with the top generals of her species. She forgets even rarer than she forgives, and although she’s sharper than most of her peers, she prefers to sink beneath a synthol-soaked brutish demeanor. Despite having the capability, she won’t lift a damn finger unless she deems it absolutely necessary, but she’s more likely to deem it necessary when it comes to others rather than herself.
When it comes to the Captain, she finds the woman kind of creepy, honestly, what with all the soulful gazing. But while she’s not unflinchingly loyal to the Cap, she also knows there’s not many better options out there than to follow her lead, Pax thinks she’s a good sort, so for now she’s as happy as she can be about staying on board.
Likes
Spices—Gtyk’s tits, but she’s tired of tasteless prison gruel
Just about any kind of booze—yes, the rumor about her still is true, no, she will not share
Combat—whether hand-to-hand or gun-to-gun, she’s pretty much always raring to grow
Hot environments—her people come from the desert, it makes sense she’d at least enjoy it
Bladed weapons—her favorites, and she’ll pick them over a gun every time
New languages—she’ll insist it’s just cause she gets new swears, but really, she likes learning
Dislikes
Cold—Pax gets sluggish and sleepy in extreme cold, and it’s been used to subdue her before
Manipulation—if she finds out she’s being played, all bets are off
Being talked down to—between her size and her punch-first ask-later approach, most assume she’s stupid and act accordingly when nothing could be further than the truth
Any discussion of her crimes—this is a 100% no-go
Skills
Tactical genius
Extremely experienced drinker
Hand-to-hand and bladed combat master
High natural aptitude for languages, speaks more than ten fluently
Basic-level mechanic simply from proximity
Weaknesses
Hot headed (to say the least)
Very heavy, so she can’t swim worth a damn
Apathetic
Fears 
Drowning
Heights
Betrayal
History
Paxyqntrokqa’s childhood is not a common topic of discussion. Her birth parents are unknown to anyone but her, as like the rest of her generation, she was taken to military school as soon as she passed an aptitude test at age five. The few records not redacted or burned out on her schooling indicate that she had every skill the top brass of her planet was looking for—she had talent for tactics, troop assessment, combat, large-scale warfare...all Trakqi have a mandatory military service of at least five years, but it came as a surprise to no one when Pax chose to continue her service.
What did come as a surprise was how she simply seemed to vanish off the face of the planet for the next decade. Those who knew her couldn’t say where she went when she vanished for long months, or even where she was serving, and any government officials asked were silent on the subject. The next time Pax appeared in the public eye was her dishonorable discharge in her 35th year of military service, around the time she turned forty two. The exact circumstances of her discharge are vague at best, redacted at worst, but it’s no coincidence that it occurred a few short weeks after a bombing that leveled a temple complex and killed almost a hundred civilians.
After her disgrace on her home planet, Pax disappears again, this time not by virtue of concealment but simply by vanishing into the fringes of the galaxy. She occasionally pops up as an accessory to several counts of smuggling, mercenary work, and security freelancing, but mostly she seemed to drift from interstellar pub to interstellar pub, staying firmly away from any Trakqi colony worlds or outposts. As far as her people are concerned, she’s dead, and she might be better off in their eyes if she actually was. By all accounts she was simply drinking herself into a hole, and when she hit rock bottom she grabbed a shovel and started digging. Eventually, though, after several close escapes, the courts caught up to her for a few dirty jobs she’d done and sentenced her to twenty years, shortened to ten by her service with the Pickers.
Trakqi
 Lifespan 
Around 200 sol years
 Home Planet 
The Trakqi originate from the planet Qik, occasionally and not-so-affectionately nicknamed The Dustbowl. A desert planet with a few outcroppings of jungle-like oases, the Trakqi have built their cities with practicality in mind. Their cities are a curious blend between old and new, steel spiraling out of sandstone foundations, alumiglass mixed with brightly colored drapings over open windows. The farther from the spaceports one gets, the more primitive the surroundings become, but present in every single Trakqi settlement are solar panels. Literal star power is so omnipresent in Trakqi society that it’s incorporated into almost every facet of daily life, from sun-absorbent pavement to solar fashion. Sandstorms are still a major threat to smaller Trakqi settlements, and as such they have some of the best early weather-detection systems in the galaxy.
 Culture
Coming from such a harsh world, it’s no surprise that the Trakqi developed from a harsh people. Back in the tribal days, the Trakqi’s predecessors were warlike and brutal, quickly dominating the globe and beating out other species by any means necessary. Even today this remains a racial characteristic, and although they’ve solved the problem of international warfare, they’re an ambitious race on a galactic scale, and most other species regard them with wariness at best and outright fear and hatred at worst.
Above all, though, the Trakqi are disciplined. From birth, children are trained into obedience and respect for authority, including a mandatory military service starting at age 10. While there is technically an elected democracy, the real power lies with the military leaders who far outnumber the politicians. In fact, being a politician brings about as much pride to a family as being a repair mechanic—a necessary service, but completely devoid of glory. Ultimately, it’s the generals and commanders who decide which planets to direct their forces to next—unoccupied or not—and doing well in the military is one of the highest honors a Trakq can achieve. Those who receive the coveted Skalmariq, a medal of honor, are global celebrities.
However, there is also a side to Trakqi that few outsiders ever get to see. Along with their more aggressive tactics, Trakqi are surprisingly able diplomats. The species has one of the highest aptitudes for new languages and social customs in the galaxy, often gaining fluency within weeks or months, and most individuals can be quite charming if the situation calls for it. Most simply prefer a polite but direct approach. Despite what the galaxy as a whole believes, not every conquered planet required an invasion.