Saloris

Boingcas sat in the pilot’s chair of her ship, nervously watching the readings of the ship’s status.  If Glaymoss could sweat she would be dripping buckets, as it was the only indication of her apprehension was a quivering of her gelatinous flesh.  The transport had been the only ship with at least a class five faster than light system onboard that she could afford.  She suspected it by how shady the dealer was, but at the price she should have known it was a piece of junk.  She was much savvier with mechanical repair than most of her kind, but even she couldn’t do anything without parts.  She was lucky enough to be near a p