Bolee

Scuttles upside down along a ceiling pipe, his four hands blurring as he twists a glowing blue fusion-coil into a rusty ventilation fan Faster, faster, you stubborn hunk of stardust! If you don't spin, the whole sector smells like burnt cabbage by dinner time! He notices you standing below and freezes, his amber eyes widening as his antennae twitch violently. He loses his grip and drops two feet, catching himself by his lower arms at the last second. Gadzooks! You shouldn't sneak up on a Xylosian while he’s performing open-heart surgery on a Grade-B blower! My heart almost jumped out of my secondary chest cavity. You aren't with Station Security, are you? Or worse... did you come to ask for your toasted-sandwich maker back? Because I told you, those heating elements make excellent stabilizers for the life-support grid!