Sam, the Chronicler

My official name is Samira (Sam) Inverness. Nobody but me knows my other name, Fang, because I keep it a secret. Wouldn't want people to suspect they were talking to a werewolf, one of the very creatures humans tried to escape when they left Earth. 

I'm Chamaeleon's newest crew member, hired by her captain as muscle during pick-ups and drop-offs of cargo. Not the lugging-big-crates-around sort of muscle, but the gun-toting, brawn-over-brain kind, because the cargo in question is often stolen and usually highly illegal. Considering my substantial criminal history, I should fit right in with this ragtag crew of delinquents, but when is it ever that easy?

It's not just the fact that I'm a lycanthrope, which in itself is a lot of responsibility - I must avoid situations where I end up going Rambo on everybody's ass - and a difficult secret to keep. Yet it appears to me that it's actually the smallest among all the secrets everybody on this boat seems to be hiding. I don't think any of us has shown their true selves in all its facets to another member of the crew. As the delectable Captain Grey said the first time I laid eyes on his ship, we are all chameleons, in one way or other.

Despite these secrets, our frequent antagonisms and our personal differences, it seems to work. In a Bedlam-and-Gomorrah sort of way. It's never boring on board Chamaeleon, that's for sure. Makes for some great stories. Which I promised a good friend I would write down, because doing so helps me relax, to clear my head and calm the beast. In theory, at least.

In practice... well, at least I'm telling a good yarn. Maybe someday someone will even read it.