Trina Mannsfield

Born Trina Mannsfield, Trina is a single mother who lived on the planet Vegastar working as a burlesque dancer, model, waitress, or any other employment she could find that provided for her and her son. Street smart and hardworking, Trina has lost more jobs based on her willingness to speak her mind than many people have ever had in their lives.

Slight and waifish, Trina makes up for her lack of physical prowess by a total lack of fear, hard charging attitude and dedication to provide for her family. Working 2 jobs at a time, this work horse of a woman is always on the hunt for whatever opportunity came her way that could better her or her sons life.

When her son was just 15 years old, Trina took the first shuttle off Vegastar leaving behind most of her worldly possessions behind and following a vague job lead. There is some speculation that she was escaping a failed hustle. Though this has never been confirmed, it is clear that more than one large cash reward has been placed on her return to Vegastar by Angelo DePaulma, a reputed gangster.

Arriving on the planet Primus, Trina found work operating one of the many huge earth movers used by the mines to clear debris from the refining process. Enduring herself with her male coworkers by being both bold, and showing no fear.

Her supervisors, impressed by her hard charging attitude and intelligence promoted her rapidly from a simple machine operator to the foremen of a large team of operators. She continues to work at the mine to this day, home schooling her son and hoping for him to one day have a better life than she did.

                Machinery roared to life as the metal bucket of the loader dug into the pile of loose rock dirt and gravel. Cutting into the earth like a hot knife through butter, the loader lifted the earth up, swung it with easy to its left and deposited it into the empty bed of the massive dump truck.

                Standing well away from the controlled savagery of the machinery Trina, arms crossed, watched with a satisfied smirk on her face. Her crew was well ahead of schedule digging the anti-tank trench around the city. It wasn’t the kind of work they were used to doing, but with Trina at the helm of the job, they would get it done.

                “Looks good.” Captain Hunter Johnson commented, dropping his spent cigarette to the ground and rubbed it out with his boot.

                Trina said nothing, but nodded, she was proud of the work her crew was doing. Her satisfaction was short lived however, watching through increasingly narrowed eyes, Trina began to scowl. Reaching across her breast she clicked the radio clipped to her orange vest.

                “St. Micheal!” Trina bellowed. “What the fuck are you doing!” Her small frame hid the sudden and powerful outburst. Red hair flashed under her helmet.

                “What’s wrong?” Hunter asked, unsure as to what he was seeing.

                “I swear that kid is retarded.” Trina shook her head, not really answering Hunter. “He’s moving past an empty truck and going to one at the other end of site, fucking wasteful.” Trina waited for an answer from the operator, her cheeks flushing with frustration.

                “Yeah boss?” St. Micheal responded, he voice crackling over the radio.

                “Stop, just stop, I’m coming down there.” Trina marched quickly down the small embankment toward the now stopped loader. Other vehicles began to slow as their operators tried to catch a look at the ass chewing that was about to happen. Sensing this Trina got back on the radio.

                “Oh no, you kids get your asses back to work, we aren’t being paid to gawk, I’ll come visit the next idiot who slows down.”

                Hunter followed a few feet behind Trina, smiling to himself at the power this slight woman carried. She would have been a hell of an officer. A humorous image entered his head, the idea of her being deployed from a larger soldier backpack, like some kind of wild weapon system.

                St. Micheal exited his loader and landed with a menacing crunch as he hit the ground. Hunter had never seen a bigger man. He was at least 350lbs, at a solid half a foot taller than Hunter. The man looked like he could eat a cow for a snack.

                “You stupid bastard.” Trina had to jump to strike the man in the side of the helmet. “Closest truck, closest truck, if you’re going more than a few hundred feet, you’re wrong, you got that!?”

                “Yes ma’am.” St. Micheal answered, hanging his head. Looking down at the little red head as she jammed a finger into his face.

                “Now get back up there and do the job you know how to do. You goofy bastard. “ Trina laughed and slapped St. Micheal on the ass as he ascended the ladder back into the cab. 

Triston Alexander

                Born Triston Alexander, Triston grew up in what could be called a provincial life on the world New Margrette, a world known for its lush green fields and thriving agricultural systems. Like most people in his family, he was being groomed for life working and managing the tens of thousands of square miles devoted to food production and manufacturing.

                However, at the age of 16, while operating one of the large harvesters, Triston had injured a small animal native to the planet, a small ball of fur not unlike a rabbit. Tending to the injured animal had inspired him, giving the young man a vision of what he wanted to do with his future. This however came at a logger head with his family.

                Tristons father would have none of it, his son was going to follow in the family enterprise and there was no other way about it. His mother had been disappointed, but supportive in a quiet way typical of all women in her family.

                Handsome in his youth, Triston had grown into a sensitive cautious man, not prone to violence or rages of any kind. This was in stark contrast to his brothers who excelled in physical sports and work. This left Triston feeling an outsider with his own family. More often than not he could be found between shifts working in the fields reading in any quiet place he could find.

                At the age of 18, Triston left home and attended the only university on the planet. First enrolling in vet sciences he found the course work both tiring and pointless. The decision came with little consultation with his family and quietly transferred to a new university in the Doob system. Leaving home without so much as a good bye to his family or few friends he had.

                By the age of 26, Triston had risen to top of his medical class, graduating second overall in a class of more than 2000. His wild success left many door open to him and while he wanted to take full advantage of these his student debt had left him nearly crippled, unable to leave the planet and take advantage of any of the offers he had been given with large hospitals, medical foundations, or planetary governments.

                Desperate for a job, Triston took a low level position with Hiyma Corporation in their medical safety department. Nearly entry level and far below his educational station, Triston applied himself in much the same way he had as a farmer. With hard work, patience and attention to detail he slowly began to rise through the ranks of the company until he had secured a department directors position.  

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                Triston stood at the operating table, he couldn’t have looked worse if he had spent the night in a trough of blood. His hands had become slippery and unworkable, forcing him to change gloves every few minutes. The pile of dirty latex at his side had grown over the past hours from a small stack to a virtual mountain of blood stained rubber.

                Pulling his surgical mask down slowly, taking a deep breath, the doctor nodded to the assisting nurse. “Okay, he’s stable, who’s next?”

                This was not what he had in mind for his future. Drafted into military service, on a planet he had no intention of staying on for very long, preforming surgery on men with the most devastating wounds he had ever seen with the aid of a single nurse. It was, in his mind, a crime.

                “Sir?” The nurse had a concerned look on her face.  “Sir, I said that’s it, we’re done for now.”

                Triston looked at her, blinked; the words made sense but for some reason didn’t register. For the past 20 hours he had been seeing one after another. Stabilizing the wounded for further surgery.

                “I need a drink.”