“Sir Alwin, here is your assignment. If you choose not to accept, you will be immediately terminated with two weeks’ pay and the option to stay at a safe house for up to three months at the expense of the company. Luck of the draw to you, stay safe.”

With that, Gamal bowed slightly from behind the steel desk and walked away, disappearing into the rows of safe deposit boxes behind him. Before he disappeared, he gave one glance back at Alwin.

Nathan Alwin blinked. It wasn’t unusual for Gamal to walk away after delivering an assignment, however, it was unusual for him to glance back. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. By instinct, he glanced around him.

He was about two feet inside the door to a large vault. A simple stainless steel desk was in front of him. The usual armored briefcase was on the table with the assignment directives folded in paper on top.

Behind the desk, there were rows of safe deposit boxes of varying sizes and heavy locked doors in the back.

He ran his hand over his short-cut Mohawk. Something was up. Gamal prepared the assignments, he knew what was in the cases, if they had anything in them at all, and who they went to. If there were any specific directions for a courier, he prepared those as well.

Alwin regarded the armored case. Once he picked it up, the assignment was his responsibility. He could still back away and find a job as a courier at another company. It wasn’t uncommon in this line of work. Couriers were known to be as jumpy as rabbits and often had as many superstitions as rabbits had children.

Per policy, he could look at the special instructions and still leave the assignment. It was widely regarded as unlucky if a courier did so, however. Special instructions often had private information regarding the handling of the package.

Alwin stuffed one hand in his pinstripe dress pants and clutched the collar of the armored vest beneath his suit jacket with his other hand. There wasn’t another courier service on this planet that paid as well as this one. Jacob still hadn’t paid the gambling ring back in full. His mother would beg for money from the loan sharks again if he didn’t take care of her bills.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Alwin had showed his family they could make something of themselves. Jacob had quit gambling, or, at least he had for a full three years now. Mother was working part-time as her health allowed, but still needed help because of father’s debts.

Alwin did the calculations in his head for costs of moving, time with pay, time taken to move, time between paychecks, time to get hired with a new job…

Budget, could he reduce his budget? There was his car, he could sell it and use public transportation at a new job. So, that eliminated that cost. He could get a cheaper apartment in the suburbs, he could live off rice and meat, yes, yes, it might work. It would save…

He took a breath and sighed.

He stared at the armored case and paper, as if he could will it to go away. Minutes passed, Gamal didn’t return.

Bah! He was making a mountain out of a molehill. It wouldn’t hurt to look at the special instructions. He reached out and picked them up. He unfolded the paper and read the one line of text:

A little drink while in Qembu next time we meet.

It rang a small bell in his head. He didn’t like it. The bell felt too personal, too close to home.

“A drink in Qembu” was a common saying. Qembu was where every kind of entertainment and pleasure could be found, drinking being the least among them. It was like a country saying it was sending its soldiers to target practice when it was in the middle of a world war. A drink in Qembu meant going to the greatest party all the worlds of the known universe had to offer.

He’d often dreamt of going to Qembu as a kid. He and his friend, Gerald, had often made plans to go there if they had ever become wealthy enough to afford the space fare…

A little drink while in Qembu next time we meet.

Alwin slowly folded up the paper and threw it on top of the suitcase. After three seconds, it disintegrated into a puff of smoke.

This is just a molehill, he thought. But he knew better. Using such a common term of phrase was bad for a code phrase, except this one was slightly altered from the common phrase of “A drink in Qembu next time we meet.” He and Gerald had often joked about their little change of phrasing and what the words spelled out.

A Little Drink While In Quembu Next…. ALDWIQN. It was imperfect, but the whole phrase roughly translated to “ALWIN, time we meet.”