Dubious company. That was what Hitomi thought, entering the station through the side exit of the Adventure Galley's small ferry. The station may have looked nicely at some point, but now she more had the feeling of a slum. The main Hangar at which the ship she entered on was docked on alone was full of petty vendors offering everything from souvenirs to Cardamine, from fried potato chips to pineal amulets.
The scent was unbearable. Not the thick, dusty smog of Leeds, not the hardly breathable cold of New Berlin, but something different. Recycled station atmosphere, filtered barely with only half-operational filters, mixed with excrements, sweat, oil and boiling grease, and thousands of other notes Hitomi couldn't possibly identify.
People almost had to step on people on this crowded market. Or hangar. Or toilet. Or whatever this was. It was a hellhole, and nothing more. Hard to imagine Leslie knew a quiet place on the station to have a break at, and recapitulate the events of the past, but... The only other option would have been Shinkaku's Crimson Cup, under the watchful eye of at least a dozen of her subordinates. Not a good Idea at all.
Hitomi herself had tried to look a bit more casual, but had obviously failed at that. The blouse she was wearing was a bit to clean and straight, the skirt a tad too long and her makeup almost non-existent, aside from the usual she applied to avoid people noticing that she was already aging. Her sword, of which she only let go when she went to sleep, was hanging apparently loosely over her shoulder, the hilt facing downwards so that if could be drawn without having to reach up.
"Is this really the right place, Leslie? Not sure where to find your 'quiet place' in this mess..." She asked, apparently a bit uneasy stepping down the provisoric ramp into the crowd. Her face rarely showed emotion, that much was known to Miss Durant, but the Admiral feeling uneasy about the scum around her was something that fitted right into the image that she painted of herself.
30th June 822 – Barrier Gate Station, Coronado, Independent Space
Sarah McFarlen was grinning like a coyote as she dropped to the hangar floor between Adventure Galley and Hitomi. Ships great and small dotted the length of the hangar bay like exotic animals in a rich man’s zoo. Bretonian-manufactured tramp freighters like the Galley squatted alongside corsair raiders, rogue-stamped bombers resting alongside the sleek lines of off-duty corporate security ships. The Barrier didn’t care where you came from or who you were, only that you had credits in your account. It was equality; in the oldest, fairest, and most uncaringly cruel sense of the word.
In a very real sense, it was home. Sarah took a deep breath, tasting air at least half a dozen cycles past its prime and a hundred other scents, gun-oil mingling with the odour of a hundred different opportunistic food stalls and burnt propellent. A pistol hung on her hip - unloaded, but who going to take the chance? In the Barrier not carrying got you more attention than an assault rifle. Her faithful faded green flight suit sat over cargo pants and a T-Shirt half a size too big, and her hand clutched a duffel bag that clunked like a junkyard when she walked.
“Yeah, Admiral.” Sarah smiled, patted the side of the Galley affectionately. “I think we’re in the right place.”
Behind her, Leslie Durant descended the ramp dressed like she always was, for durability and comfort. The black Jacket had been swapped for a brown one, covering a black T-Shirt with the timeless picture of Adalbert Stein, famous Bundschuh revolutionary. His name had become synonymous with radicalism and free-thinking nearly a century after his death. Frayed dark jeans and black sandals completed the look.
She stretched her arms languorously and walked past Sarah, patting Sakuma on the shoulder once. Sensing her discomfort, she smiled reassuringly.
“The Barrier’s segregated in it’s own way. Money creates the hierarchy here. If we descend upwards enough and then stop before we hit the obnoxious rich man district, we’ll find a decent place.”
Her smile grew wider. “Looking good, by the way.”
Glancing at Sarah, Leslie started leading the way through the crowded district. Food districts and casinos, clustered around the docking bays like alligators waiting just downstream of a spawning ground, quickly gave way to the more sedate elements of the Barrier’s population. Dark-tinted storefronts crouched alongside narrow hallways, a mishmash of different architectural styles and ages. They passed a medical chop-shop, the smell of blood and viscera heavy in the air, wandered past a handful of bars selling far more potent chemicals than alcohol, politely declined invitations to more brothels than any sane person cared to count. Artifact dealers mingled with cardamine addicts and radical academics in a constant, shifting flow of humanity. Gravity shifted in strength and direction as they pressed on, one half-functioning generator steadily taking over as it’s predecessor faded, grumbling, behind them.
“Let me know if you see anything that looks like a workshop.” Sarah nodded towards the duffel bag, bobbing alongside her in the spotty gravity. “Those filters are getting way past their due. Don’t know about you, but I’m getting real sick of smelling sweat first thing in the morning.”
“Your ex-boyfriend must’ve had a tough time,” Leslie idly remarked, then held up a hand to placate Sarah. “We’ll be here for a few days. This day is for unwinding and pleasure, then you can begin going over every inch of the Galley with Levi, and that’ll be the final confirmation of your employment.”
Sarah nodded, her smile slipping a few degrees. Damn. She’d completely forgotten about the elusive Levi and his long-promised check of the Galley and her skills both. It had been years since she’d last had someone looking over her shoulder. The thought of playing the apprentice again, however briefly, didn’t exactly fill her with enthusiasm. Instead, Sarah nodded at a sealed hatchway, curving up and away along the wall of the massive asteroid that made up the bulk of Barrier Gate.
“I used to have an apartment up there, y’know. Way back before I really found any sort of steady work in Rheinland.” Sarah grinned, waving back along the cluttered hallway. “I don’t think I came out for a day or two when I first got in. Hell of a walk, huh?”
”Sure is.” Leslie cocked her head in Sarah’s direction. “You didn’t skip any rent payments, did you? However low the odds, I wouldn’t want to get brained by an angry landlord looking for recompense.”
“No, don’t worry about it.” Sarah winked at the Admiral and started back down the hallway. “Never made any to start with.”
“Oh boy.” Leslie rubbed her head tiredly and continued walking along. “We’ll also be getting a new weapons-array installed. Dulzian-class. Make sure to take good note of how it works, it might save our life.”
“Replacing the atmosphere scrubbers will save our lives. Sure, though, I can do that. I mean, the Barrier’s not exactly renowned for top-grade gear, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t get plugged in upside down or anything like that.” Sarah stepped aside to let a bear of a man toting a heavy machine gun of the sort normally mounted on armoured vehicles sidle past. “You trust the suppliers?”
Leslie’s smile was lazy and smug. “I’d hope you can trust Deep Space Engineering.”
“That’ll do.” Sarah’s lips curled in a grin, disbelief written all across her face. “And here I thought we couldn’t afford new filters. Did someone die?”
“I’d hope not. I’ll be placing requisition orders for other parts as well, including your filters. I’ll make them last as long as I can, but I do understand the need for maintenance.” She paused. Especially when we’re living on the thing.”
Leslie came to a sudden stop, glancing at a banner over her head. The Revenant, it said on a glowing red neon sign. “This’ll do. Let’s get in.”
The Revenant’s owner apparently believed only two colors existed in the Universe. Red strobe lights flashed throughout the small establishment, and the interior decor was done mostly in red and black. It was a goth’s idea of cheery, but with a name like Revenant, one did not expect a bright reception. A substantial dance floor dominated centre stage, and the long bartending table had about twenty stools laid out in front of it, about half of which were occupied. The place was not overly crowded, and the crowd that did exist did not seem like the kind of riff-raff that dominated the Station’s population.
Leslie lead the way to empty stools, and settled down on one easily, gesturing her companions into seats besides her.
“So, what’ll it be?”
“Anything that’s not scotch and soda.” Sarah grimaced, raised a hand to her forehead. “Remind me to kill Arland when we see him next. Dunno about the Admiral.” She turned to the woman next to her, raised an eyebrow in question.
"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."
- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.
Hitomi was still baffled about the familiarity those two shared not only with themselvesm but as well with her. It eased her discomfort walking through the masses a bit, knowing to have two friends in her back (Leslie even risked her neck for saving her) and, not to a small degree, the fact that she was armed and most likely not only more experienced than all of the burglars, thieves, robbers and whatnot this station had to offer, but also better trained and in form.
'Being military has benefits. Sometimes'
Was what she thought to herself, entering the establishment together with the two others. Without much thinking, she answered the question for her drink reflexively, talking with a spontaneous decision rather than thinking about it as she usually did.
"Shochu. But they'll not have it. So I guess something with more than 30 percent will do" She was aware that nobody had seen her drinking yet - and if she was honest to herself, she hadn't either. Sure, a Sake at a ceremony, a whiskey to celebrate a victory during her days in the resistance - but this was actually the first time she ordered alcohol with the clear intent of clouding her mind.
Hiding her emotions behind the usual wall of stoicism, it became hard for her to hide everything. As she sat down, gazing around the bar, apparently searching for possible threats - "That's the job" - she started to slowly relax her muscles that had been hard like steel for the last three minutes walking. The dark, red atmosphere strangely pleased her. It reminded her of something in the far past, far beyond the days she actually could remember. And as she started to relax, the hardened impression on her face vanished slowly - not completely, one can never completely ignore the job - but to degree.
"Okay, Sarah-San", she started to talk, finally, after about two minutes of quietness:"I just have to ask. How does one come to... Live in this place?". The 'live' was almost overpronounced, as if she was doubting not only the possibility, but more the actual fact that this was living. Having travelled with her, Sarah could tell that this was not meant as an insult - it was merely the result of curiosity paired with a bit of ignoring manners, as uf she tried how to behave around friends, but wasn't entirely sure with how that would be done.
Sarah waved down the bartender on his way back to the bar and recounted the order.
“She’s paying.” She jerked her head towards Leslie. “Just so you know. Make sure you write that down or something.”
Once the bartender had made a hasty, near-supernatural, retreat into the red-and-black confines of The Revenant, Sarah turned her attention back towards the Admiral.
“Oh, that. Nothing too exciting. I made some friends in the Natio Octavarium, back before they went all creepy recluse on the rest of us. Harold Kane, right? Anyway. I did them a couple of favors, and they offered to loan me a room for a bit when I needed one. Used to belong to some old hand of theirs, back when they were still the Vagrant Raiders instead of playing at being respectable.” Sarah flashed a fox’s grin. “Apparently he didn’t handle the transition too well, someone got shot, and they ended up with an empty room. Worked out okay for me, though. As to the why?
That’s entirely the wrong question, Admiral.” Sarah smiled and raised her hands in an all-encompassing gesture. “This is the Barrier. The Land of Do-as-you-please. The land of why not?”
Leslie had raised an eyebrow in appreciation. ”You’ve certainly gotten around more than I expected from a ship rat. I can’t say I’ve even heard of the Vagrant Raiders, except they sound...Vagrant? And filthy?” She paused. ”Sarah’s right though. Barrier’s the land of -anything goes-. If you decide to decapitate someone for looking at you funny, they’ll only charge you a few bucks for clean-up.”
She raised a finger. ”Still, don’t decapitate anyone. That’d put a damper on our evening.”
“Unless they start it.” Sarah added.
”Yeeeeah...anyways. Been a while, Hitomi. How are things shaking out on your end?” Leslie smirked at a memory. ”Found Mori yet?”
“And, sorry if this is a little personal, but is that an actual sword? I saw the one in Leslie’s quarters. Meant to ask you about it earlier.” Sarah jerked her head behind her, towards the myriad pistols hanging off belts around the bar. “I mean, I’ve heard of bringing a knife to a gunfight, but… Can you actually use that thing?”
Leslie rolled her eyes. ”God, Sarah...you can’t just simply ask someone if their sword works. At least take them out to dinner first.”
“But then I’d be wasting time if it doesn’t.” Sarah pointed out. “We’re not all on Captain’s wages, skipper. Dinners are expensive.”
As she uttered those words, the harried bartender returned with their order, and Leslie practically snatched her drink. ”Speaking of expensive...dig in.” She took a sip and continued. ”I was about to buy Hitomi a sword as well, something more useful. But it wasn’t such a hot idea in hindsight.”
“Why not?” Sarah paused, a wedge halfway to her mouth. “Are you saying the Admiral couldn’t handle two swords?”
Leslie almost burst out laughing. ”It’s the kind of sword you were looking up on the neural net earlier, Sarah. Not the bladed type.”
“There’s no privacy on that ship, is there? It’s like living with the LSF.” Sarah grinned, a touch of crimson creeping into her cheeks. She glanced at the Admiral for support. “See what she does to me? This is why I’m such a nervous wreck.” Sarah plopped a booted foot across her lap, rested it on the arm of the chair, the complete opposite of nervous. “You know, I picked up some interesting stuff on the sensors on the way in. There’s some ancient authcodes floating around out there. Like, pre-colony sort of stuff, just zooming around. It’s neat. It’s like a window into the past.”
Leslie merely smiled politely at that.
“I can show you, if you want.” Sarah offered, reached for her datapad. “I’ve got the codes right here.”
”Doubt I’d be able to make much sense of those, Sarah,” Leslie said. ”Do tell if you find something interesting though.”
“Sure. I shot a request in for some time on the subspace network but, eh.” Sarah shrugged, scooped up another wedge with gusto. “Don’t know if they’ll give it to me. Still. Nice to be somewhere the food’s solid again. How do you guys deal with it on the dreadnoughts?” She turned to the Admiral. “At least we’re moving on the Galley. I think I’d go crazy spending that long in one place.”
"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."
- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.
Hitomi was about to answer Sarah's first question as the back and forth between the two other ladies began. Leaning back in her seat, she waited until she actually was able to participate in. The amount of questions flung at her increased, and so she started to make mental notes, a habit very useful when talking diplomatics or commanding, but apparently as well in conversation. As Sarah finally started to inhale, she started to take part in the conversation. To Leslies question about Mori, Hitomi gave only a slight nod, moving on to the next.
"That depends on how you define 'Sword', Sarah-San, ", she said with a smirk, "and yes, I am perfectly capable of using it. Part of the training, you know. It's more of a... traditional status symbol in our culture, though. More of a... part of our way of living, if you know what I'm saying... Although..."She looked at the amused faces of her two companions "I do get the feeling that you two seem to use the term 'sword' metaphorically for something?"Not sure if she interpreted the conversation correctly, her uneasiness returned for a bit, only to be eased again by the finally arriving drinks. "So you're... Constantly living without a home, then? I mean, sure, the Galley is a pretty ship, but I wouldn't want to live my life in a metal box if I had the choice. And believe me, I'm talking experience. I live in a metal box, and not by choice" Her laughter after that comment seemed completely honest. 'Joking about your job. Doing a great impression here, Hitomi. Get yourself together!' "Things are going alright, Leslie... Could be worse. Could be raining." Another smile, this time a bit forced. Apparently she didn't feel comfortable talking the reasons for it going not that well... Yet. The other two would only have to wait for the alcohol to kick in.
”A metaphor?” Sarah raised a hand to her mouth, the very image of wounded humility. ”Are you implying that Leslie or I would dream of discussing anything less than absolutely decent? I’m hurt. Deeply, deeply, hurt. Leslie, aren’t you hurt?”
”Deeply.” Leslie nodded, solemn.
”I don’t mind the box thing, really.” Sarah shrugged, traced a square in salt on the table. ”It’s better to be in a ship that’s going somewhere than to open your eyes to same open field day after day for years on end. No matter how nice it is. I’ve been in space so long I can’t imagine living anywhere else, now. It is home.
Not counting the Barrier, of course. Like you said, people live here, but it’s never really home. Changes too much, too quickly. The only thing that has time to settle is the compost.” She raised a straw to her lips, took a long sip of something that tasted of raspberry and burned her throat on the way down. ”Erk. Did someone murder a fruit salad out the back and hide the body for a month?”
A shout cut across the bar, skimming across the low, pulsing music like a low-flying and particularly shrill bird. ”Get off. You can stay to carry drinks. The rest of you; go grab a seat, your drinks’ll get to you.”
”Huh.” Sarah grinned, twisted in her chair to watch. One of the bartenders, a woman perhaps a few years younger than she was, was pushing away a cluster of five men in matching white and blue uniforms. All of them wore pistols, and squarer, squatter weapons that Sarah guessed were tasers. The bartender was pretty, in the tired, ‘I’ve had enough of this crap for a lifetime,’ way that rookie bartenders defaulted to after about the sixth hour on shift. The men, on the other hand, were just getting started for the night.
Two rounds worth of empty glasses sat on the bar in front of them. Slowly, a slightly older man with a pair of gold chevrons on his arm, turned and began herding the group back towards the lights of the dancefloor, leaving one of their number behind to collect the drinks. One of them leered at the bartender as the group stalked away from the bar. She pointedly ignored him and returned her attention to the glasses.
”Oh no. Look busy.” Sarah rolled her eyes. A pair of men had detached themselves from the rest of the group and probably thought they were sauntering their way towards Leslie’s table. To Sarah, it looked more like staggering. From a distance they looked like a comedy double act. One tall, a military-esque cap perched atop a long face that it would have been unflattering to call horse-like, and a short man with a stylized bear belt buckle polished so bright that Sarah was fairly certain it counted as a weapon.
”Hey ladies.” The cap paused, eyeing the table. Sarah bravely stared into her drink and refused to make eye-contact. ”Now, I’m no expert, but this table’s suffering from a bit of a gender imbalance. Isn’t right, you girls left all alone out here in the big bad barrier. Dangerous place for a few travellers. Mind if we join you?”
His companion laughed at that. He had a laugh like a crow, all throaty cackle. Without waiting for a response, he dragged two chairs across the floor and the men settled down. Perhaps it was paranoia, but Sarah couldn’t help noticing that their seats conveniently blocked the exits to the booth.
”Afraid this is a girl’s night out.” Leslie said, lowering her drink to the table. ”Try your luck elsewhere, gentlemen.”
The uniforms pointedly ignored her. The short man shot the Admiral a look that had far too much calculation behind it for Sarah’s liking. ”Hey. Is that a real sword? Let’s have a look.” He reached a hand across the table towards the blade’s hilt.
"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."
- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.
Hitomi's response was quick. She didn't even answer, but grabbed his wrist, stood up and made pirouette like a dancer, turning his hand on his back. Without saying a word, she thrusted the arm upwards, using the momentum of the pirouette, until a faint 'snap' could be heard.
Letting the man go, leaving him cringe on the seat she just sat in.
"I think she said this is a girl's night out. Didn't you, Leslie?" she said, looking over to her friend as she realized that she probably overreacted a bit. Especially the guns the uniforms were wearing made her uncomfortable, so she reached slowly behind her back, readying herself ready for a brawl.
Her uneasiness vanished and made way for her training taking over her reactions. She appeared much calmer and composed than she did previously.
”That-” Sarah didn't even see the Admiral move. Before the words had time to leave her mouth the shorter man was slumped in Hitomi's seat, hand clamped over one shoulder, pale-faced and whimpering. The Admiral was standing on the chair between him and Leslie, wearing an expression that could have cut steel. ”Might be a bad idea.” She finished absently. It seemed a shame to waste a perfectly good sentence.
She had to mentally backtrack a few seconds. Logic insisted that the Admiral had, apparently, moved between sitting and standing in the intervening seconds. Sarah's brain was just having difficulty pinpointing exactly when. She turned to the man sitting next to her, cocked an eyebrow. ”Hi. Did you see that?”
A groan of pain slipped from his lips.
”Me neither.” Sarah took a sip of her drink. Suddenly the raspberry didn't taste quite so bad.
After a long moment's silence the horse-faced man salvaged enough composure to speak. He stared daggers at the women. If looks could have killed, the Admiral would have been on an escape trajectory. ”What the hell was that?”
”Localised hurricane?” Sarah offered. The glare shifted to her. Okay then. Not the joking sort. Up close, she could see the blue and white shield of Interspace security on his shoulder. ”These wouldn't be old friends of yours would they, Skipper?”
”You squint-eyed little whore.” He breathed, eyes drifting back to the Admiral. ”You'll regret that.”
”Afraid I don’t socialise with pigs, Sarah,” Leslie added helpfully, seeming amused as the man transferred his angry glare to her.
Behind him, there was a flurry of movement on the dancefloor. Sarah caught a glimpse of uniforms leaving partners behind and drifting back towards the bar. The man who had been waiting for the group's drinks was less subtle. He was beelining it straight for their table, leaving a column of irate patrons and spilled drinks in his wake.
Three, by Sarah's count. Three corporate goons. Ah. Ha. Ha. Four, if she counted the man next to her biting his lip and trying to push his shoulder back into position. All with guns, tasers, and bad attitudes; if Sir-Racial-Slur and his kleptomaniac best buddy were indicators. A sinking feeling that was only half due to the cheap alcohol settled in her stomach.
”Guys.” She kept her voice low. ”I'm thinking maybe we should find somewhere else to be?”Somewhere with fewer murderous goons, maybe.
”Yeah. Yeah maybe you should.” The horse-faced guard smiled, and it had all the warmth of an alpine waterfall. Another three of the Interspace guards had fallen in around him and their faces hardened when they saw their fallen comrade. ”Maybe we'll take you there. The Barrier can be a dangerous place.”
”Look, friend.” Leslie’s smile had evaporated, a coldly steely mask taking it’s place. ”We’re both here to take our mind off other things, and I think we should continue doing exactly that. I’ll pay for that man’s medical, if he isn’t covered by Interspace. We’ll just finish our orders and leave.”
”I’m sorry, honey, did it look like I was talking to you?” The man scowled, tugged at his holster. ”You know as well as I do that no-one insures the damn Barrier. I don’t care what you’re paying. My issue’s with your murderous b---h of a friend over there. So, if you’ll just get out of my way.” He pushed his chair back, rocked to his feet. Even with the Admiral standing on the booth, he was tall enough to look her in the eyes. ”You and I are going to have a good, long, talk.”
”Are you now?” An unknown voice drifted past, followed by a severe looking man dressed casually in a black jacket. He rested an elbow casually on the bar counter, looking at the group with some amusement.
”Piss off back to the bowls club, grandpa.” The Interspace man barely spared him a glance. ”This isn’t any of your business.”
”Afraid it is.” The man continued grinning, unfazed by the attention he was getting. ”I’d like to drink in peace, and you are making an awful amount of noise.”
”Yeah, I’m real sorry about that. We’d hate to mess with your delicate hearing.” He rolled his eyes, half-turned to face the newcomer. ”We won’t be long. We’re leaving, aren’t we ladies?”
”Actually, I sort-of had some gear to pick-up.” Sarah coughed. ”Can I take a rain check?”
”All of us are going.” The goon insisted. Sarah saw a couple of the uniforms behind him share a doubt-filled glance.
”What the hell is that guy doing?” Leslie whispered to Sarah, making no move.
”Which one? The suicidal one at the bar, or the-” She paused, glanced at the Admiral and reconsidered. ”Nevermind, they’re both suicidal. The one sitting or the one standing?”
The unknown stranger grinned wider. ”I don’t think they’re quite interested in going, amigo. Go assert your manliness somewhere else. I’d suggest the hooker resort downstairs.”
”Appreciate the advice.” The Interspace man flashed a cold grin and took a pace toward the bar. A hand dropped to rest on his pistol. ”Let me give you some. You don’t want to be in this bar, grandpa.”
The Stranger’s left hand casually flicked his open jacket, revealing a pistol tucked securely in his belt. ”Uh-huh? You seem upset, stripling.”
Leslie was fidgeting, looking at the altercation brewing with increasing fear. Sarah shot a glance at her and lowered her drink to the table, eyes darting to the exits. ”I’m seeing a lot of guns.”
Even the bartender had noticed, and was now ineffectually trying to get the two men to back down. Eventually, he sighed and retreated to make a call.
”So what’s it going to be?” The Stranger continued, nonchalant. ”Are you going to be the better man and leave with a bruised ego, or try your luck?”
”You know.” The Interspace man’s shoulders relaxed, and his hand dropped away from the pistol. An easy grin settled on his face. ”You’ve got a pair, pops. And what the hell, this is a celebration, isn’t it?” He tossed a glance back to the rest of the Interspace crew, whose hesitant nods confirmed that, yes, this was officially supposed to be a celebration. He waved and raised two fingers to the one remaining bartender as he sauntered closer to the bar. ”Let me get you something. My little way of saying sorry.”
He threw a punch at the older man’s head.
For the second time that night, Sarah had to schedule a mental replay. The stranger swerved easily under the punch, grabbing hold of his arm as it passed over him and pulling the Interspace Jock closer. With an extremely quick motion, he grabbed hold of the jock’s head and slammed it against the counter. Once. Twice. Thrice.
”Oh crap!” Leslie screamed.
Sarah was already scrambling to her feet, grabbing her duffel bag from under the table. ”I said we should have gone equipment hunting!”
Chaos broke out across the room.
One of the Interspace goons had sprinted from the table to the bar, and was desperately trying to pry the stranger’s hands free from his skull. The other one was lingering nervously at the end of their table, and Sarah caught a flash of yellow chevrons as the senior Interspace man sprinted towards the bar. Someone else crash-tackled him to floor amid a clatter of shattering glasses.
A glass slammed into the booth next to her head, and alcohol splashed across the table. Sarah grabbed at Leslie and tried to drag her out from behind the booth. She hoped the Admiral was behind them.
”Hey, maybe you should-” The last Interspace man reached out a hand towards them. Sarah skated across the floor, tried to dart around him. The duffel bag had other ideas. Momentum carried it forward, and it smacked into his crotch with a meaty thwack and a deceptively cheerful jingle. The man’s eyes bulged and he toppled to the ground. He made a little mewling sound as he hit the deck.
”Sorry!” Sarah glanced back, motioned for the Admiral to follow them, and dragged Leslie into the melee and towards the door. Briefly, the bodies parted, and she caught a glimpse of the bar.
The Stranger had let the Interspace leader go, and the hapless man slumped to the ground, bleeding profusely from a nose broken at multiple points. ”F-----g moron,” He muttered, easily swinging out of the way of another Interspace Officer.
"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."
- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.
Hitomi was torn. On the one hand was the helping hand by the stranger an event that dictated her to help him out, but on the other, her two friends were most likely not able to defend themselves when she would go head-on in a bar brawl. Furthermore, the station's security would have heard of this incident for sure.
She stood there for about a second, thinking the possibilities of various actions over, and finally came to a conclusion. She grabbed her sword from the floor, leaving the still wimpering Interspace soldier lying on the ground and made her way to the exit, dodging a flying mug that fell down, making the characteristic picture of a bar brawl perfect.
Arriving at the entrance of the establishment, she glanced over her shoulder, eyeing the ensued fight, and then turned her head back to face her friends.
"Quiet place, you said?" she said, smirking, and not without a touch of irony in her tone.
”You should see it on a Sunday.” Sarah dumped the bag at her feet with a clatter like a cutlery drawer, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. The din of the bar faded as the door slid shut and she could make out the low wail of an alarm, a waist-high line of crimson lights flashing in the passageway adjacent to the Renevant. She flashed a grin at the pair. ”Next time I’m choosing the bar. Did you see that? I think the guy at the bar broke the Interspace goon’s nose.”
Leslie’s face was flushed, and she breathed heavily, hands on her thighs. ”And here I thought this’d be a nice establishment.” She glanced back towards the bar, the din of a fight faintly audible even from here. ”I sure hope the old guy will be fine, he got into trouble for us.”
”I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’d be more worried about the rest of the bar. You don’t start fights like that unless you want to hit someone.” Sarah shrugged and arched her back, wrestling with the idea of picking the bag up again. ”I think I can see why you stopped working with Interspace, though. Are they all like that, or did we just get the nice ones?”
Leslie shrugged in turn. ”Who knows what kind of people they’re hiring to cut costs.”
”Yeah, they must be desperate.” Sarah grinned. ”I mean, they offered you a job, right?”
Leslie glared in response. ”Prick.” She rolled her neck a little. ”That’s put a dampener on our evening, at least.”
”Silver linings, skipper.” Sarah slipped her shoulder beneath the bag with a grimace. ”I don’t think anyone remembered to charge us for the drinks.”
”There is that.” Leslie agreed, and then turned in surprise. ”Say, that’s the old man, right?” She said, gesturing in the direction of the bar, where a man was making his way out.
”No way, he was fighting two guys.” Sarah frowned. The stranger from the bar wandered through the melee with no more concern than a socialite making his way through a particularly intense conversation. Here, he flowed around a punch, there, he ghosted between a man armed with a chair and his opponent. There was something familiar in the way he moved, but she couldn’t quite place it. There was blood on the man’s sleeves but Sarah doubted it was his. She exhaled, shaking her head. ”No way.”
Leslie eyed the entire situation with some appreciation. ”Damn.” She folded her arms, as the stranger finally made his way out the door, looking around. ”Hey!” She shouted, trying to get his attention.
Sarah shot her a look, grabbed at her arm, eyes wide. ”What are you doing? Are you trying to get us in another fight?”
”He intervened when he didn’t have to. Least we can do is thank him, Sarah,” Leslie countered. In the meanwhile, the stranger had noticed her call and started walking towards them.
”Oh, right. This is a morality thing. That makes me feel so much safer. When one of us ends up with broken bones later, and I say ‘I told you so,’ this is the moment I’m referring to. Just so you know.” Sarah grumbled, but she stayed where she was. Behind the wail was a low, slowly shifting drone, like an irritated hornet. She knew that sound better than she cared to admit. Transport carts, rumbling through the station’s innards. Station security wouldn’t be far away. She flicked a glance to Hitomi. ”You want to say hi? Maybe there’s some sort of violence-telepathy thing going on and he can smell the blood on you.”
"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."
- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.
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