Freeport 10's "Sylvania Dome"

[Enkidu]

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Commonport One.

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She was as barbaric and seething as a kettle of vermin. Her docking bays were a pulsing bedlam, her biomes a twisted Eden. Luxury, debauchery, criminality and necessity all packed together in the Last Chance Saloon before the desolated mysteries of the Omicron regions, and the intrigues of the hispanic worlds.

Insistently, you find the throb of the crowd repelling you with its headiness, pushing you away towards the silent spaces and creeping lines of the corridors as you roam instinctively towards the outer superstructure, winding east, if east would bear a meaning at all on a fragile, material space station - synthetic chaos through which no compass would point north. Their was no north; no magnetic guide-rail from which to orient yourself.



A batch, a door, another rat-run of plastic and polymer, and the labyrinth unexpectedly spits you into the sun. Except there is no sun - the horizon is a hologram and the warmth you feel from the vents mere feedback from the station's heat sinks. But you can dream.



"Oai, asshole, drop the mop and find me a sidewinder fang. Light. Don't spit in it." You yell at the nobody cleaning the floor from grot of the previous patrons - as you gently find your feet and a chair with which to stare across the concourse - and flip him a credit chip. Suddenly, the Taus seemed just a wee less desolate.



You relax into your chair. Perhaps you're asking for it?

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THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)

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