The Black Swans

[Mel Rose]

Fontana Freeport.

The barely pressurised ice asteroid in the corner of Sierra Ice Field. One coming to this place might very readily feel the uneasiness of treading on frontier ground, surprised that it still remains in one piece. The old hangars, remembering the times of Hellfire Legion, barely usable, with hardly any lights or power connected to them. The new ones, scarcely insulated, with dripping water from the ceiling, ice melting with the heat of recently turned-off engines. The bare tunnels, many recently hollowed out of the ice rock, without any support for the feet - much of the crew and visitors resort to wearing spiked shoes wherever there is gravity to avoid falling over. The bar that's hardly anything more than a dilapidated military cantina.

The cantina was empty and without any significant presence beyond a group of Xenos and Freelancers arguing about something quietly at one end and a lone woman on another. It was one of the few places in the entire station that had something of a "room temperature" - a few decimals above fifteen degrees centigrade. The table in front of the woman was occupied by a portable console, a large thermos mug and a few loose garments - a black silk cowl and a pair of elaborate leather gloves.

It was hard to judge her age. She seemed young, but there was no telling how much of that youth was meticulous procedures at OS&C beauty salons and makeup and how much was actually young age. Indeed, she had an aura of dignity around her, one that girls gain as they transition into women, losing their teenage mannerism. Her raven-black hair flowed gently as she tapped something on the console. An untrained eye might have just found her doing her taxes or handling some other boring paperwork, but in fact she completed the filings of bounty board claims, periodically sipping Yorkshire tea from her mug.

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Jennifer Haze Does Not Exist :: Filing Cabinet :: Swords into Plowshares
Liminality :: Good in Red :: Past to Present :: Fish of the Sea