Ridiculous music echoed in the room. Was it a maladjusted synth? No, it was the out-of-tune sound of one of those old mechanical pianos like you would find a few centuries ago in movie saloons. A few hazy memories came crashing into Ruben's head: images of rough men wearing leather hats and riding dusty horses. He had a headache, he couldn't deny it. Why was that annoying music playing in his brain? Hunger, thirst, the feeling of having been under a train, these were the messages his body was sending him. His mind was literally tetanized by the consequent influx of signals that were fighting for priority in his nervous system. Under his back, the ground was hard. He wondered if he had fallen asleep on the floor. What had he been drinking to make his head hurt so much? Nothing, actually. His throat was an arid desert with cracked walls that made him suffer more and more.
He mechanically looked for something with his right hand. Fumbling here and there, he wished he could make that awful music disappear. His fingers landed not on a switch but in a warm, viscous substance. It wasn't the glass of water he had hoped for. Before he knew what it was, he felt a sharp pain on the top of his hand.
- Ouch! he shouted.
- Get your hands off my plate, brat, my teeth haven't been strong enough to eat meat for twelve years, grumbled a woman's hoarse voice.
She assaulted him with her fork again to push him back and, this time, the young man felt perfectly each of the tines of the utensil ploughing his skin. Ruben wanted to open the eyes but the light was too strong. He could only half-open them, by raising his head painfully. He was lying in cross on a large round table overhung by a rusty chandelier whose luminous globe was pouring its yellow-orange rays on him. His eyes got used to it little by little and he finally managed to open them wider. To his right sat a very thin old woman with a waxy complexion. An unusual mountain of white hair, strewn with colored beads and ribbons, was standing on her head. Ruben thought she looked like one of those festive trees that people decorated on some planets at the end of the year. Her almond-shaped eyes hinted at a miscegenation that Ruben was unable to recognize. She hid them behind the thickest glasses he had ever seen. The old woman defended wildly the plate placed in a corner along Ruben's side. He was hungry, but the sight of these boiled and half-crushed vegetables, didn't appeal to him. Wiping his hand on his jacket, he looked at the other side.
Behind a large aluminum counter stood the skinny old man. The rather modern piece of furniture was decorated with worked wooden plates that simulated an ancient style. The old man didn't even give him a glance. With a glass in his hand, he stared at a brown speaker from which came the dissonant sound of a piano. The movement of his shoulders betrayed a desire to dance.
- He's not dead, you owe me fifty credits, Sally, rejoiced a big voice.
The young man recognized Budee's powerful and distinctive voice that twisted his eardrums with the delicacy of a finger vigorously shoved into his ear.
- Gosh! the old woman grumbled. A dry little brat like that, I could've easily seen him buried in a ration box on the first night.
With her left hand she rummaged under her leather jacket and took out a small box which she pointed at Budee. He did the same with an identical object extracted from the back pocket of his pants. Ruben recognized there two credit exchange interfaces whose obvious modernity contrasted singularly with the rusticity of their owners. She put her index finger on the sensor and both devices beeped. Budee checked that the amount was properly displayed and went to the bar.
- It's always a pleasure to take your money Sally.
- Just choke drinking my credits, she said.
The colossus who had dragged Ruben to this dingy bar laughed.
- Hey, old man, fill me up and put my name on the raffle, I'm on a roll tonight!
There weren't many customers. Ruben could make out a tall man sprawled in a patched-up deck chair at the other end of the room. On the staircase that led upstairs, a man was following a woman barely dressed in a nightie. He was trying so hard to hide his face behind his hat that he almost fell down the stairs. A couple and their two children were eating in silence, a world away from the atmosphere of the establishment. The father often looked up from his plate to scan the surroundings with a worried look. The place really didn't look like a family restaurant. They must have gotten lost or taken refuge here when the towak came up. Now they regretted it, but didn't dare show it. Ruben turned his attention back to the old woman on his right. She met his gaze and the hard expression on her wrinkled face turned into a smile.
- Get some rest sweetheart, we're stuck here until tomorrow morning so there's no point in hurrying, she said.
- You work for Pyne? Ruben articulated hardly, his mind still a little blurred.
- It depends. In your case... yes.
- I have to see him, it's urgent! said Ruben, getting down from the table.
- You're not the only thing he's busy with tonight. You'll see Pyne later.
- I paid for this! he insisted.
- Relax, brat, the old lady said. Everyone pays to see Pyne. He's not someone you can dispose of without showing your credits. Your contract has no priority over what's going on up there.
Sally pointed to the stairs with her fork as Ruben feverishly got down from the table.
- No priority? Do you know how much I... Ruben shouted before pulling himself together and proceeding in a low voice. Do you know how much I paid for him to work for me?
- Yes, and I thank you. I'll be able to renovate the roof of my house with my share, said the old woman, who had become even more cheerful.
- Wha...? What do you mean your share? I paid a fortune to be escorted by a group of six hardened men.
- And you got Pyne and his team. It's even better. I assure you.
Ruben fell into a chair helplessly. Defeated by this remark, he was close to tears. His head still hurt and he put his hand on it. The right half of his forehead was in pain. The young man felt his skull for blood and was surprised not to find any. He felt slightly dizzy but managed, not without effort, to gradually put his thoughts back in order.
- I got screwed... I've gone so far away that I don't even know where I am anymore, only to get screwed, he muttered to himself.
- You wanted the best: you got it. I don't see what the problem is. Are you just a whiner full of credits? intervened Budee from the other end of the room.
Ruben turned to him.
- A... NO! squeaked Ruben in disappointment.
The colossus was leaning against the counter. He was holding a thermos of steaming liquid, too thick not to be suspicious. He had removed his goggles and the layers of cloth covering his face. His head was enormous, although correctly proportioned considering the size of its owner. Ruben noticed that Budee's head was particularly squared, much more than what he had seen so far. The man was massive from one end to the other and his shaved head emphasized this impression even more. A well-trimmed beard would surely have softened his rough features but Ruben didn't have the impression that the man was the kind of person who would take the trouble to make a good impression.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
- You wanted an escort that could make it from Fak West to the terraformer 34 in less than a week AND keep you alive until then... That's us.
Budee pointed to himself and then to Sally, ignoring the most basic of courtesies.
- And Pyne of course, added the old woman.
The young man got up from his chair with the little flexibility left to him by his hungry body and his aching head. He straightened up by pressing his left hand against his hip.
- Let's talk about your Pyne! Where is he, huh? You told me to follow you and that he'd be here.
Ruben began to shake, not quite stable on his legs. It wasn't long before he collapsed on the table. Budee, who saw him staggering, left the counter and came back to him with a decided step. Ruben wanted to back away when he saw him charging like that, but before the man had crossed half the distance, something cold slipped under the young man's jacket and shirt and pressed firmly against his left side. He froze in an instant.
- It's okay Budee, the kid will relax, the old woman intervened.
The colossus gave him an angry look before returning to his thermos with a sigh of disapproval.
- You're too nice to people, Sally. This one, believe me, he only understands punches, he said drinking.
The pressure became stronger against Ruben's side. Slowly, he turned his head towards the object to understand what was happening to him. In his agitation, without realizing it, he had moved closer to Sally's chair. One more step in that direction and he would have shoved her. A step that the old woman hadn't let him do. Turning towards her plate, fork in hand, she didn't even look at him. It was without counting on her left hand which held without flinching a rifle, certainly rather short but whose thick barrel was lost under the clothes of Ruben. He stopped breathing in fear that she would decide to shoot anyway.
- I'm not entirely sane and my eyes aren't what they used to be, but spill my plate, brat, and I'll make sure old Walter vaporizes your chicken body, is that clear? said Sally.
By reflex, Ruben slowly raised his arms in the air in sign of submission. She pushed him with the barrel of her weapon to make him move away.
- And put your arms down, you don't look too smart as it is, so try to remain worthy.
Ruben went back to his chair with a simulated calm. Looking around a bit, he finally let out a deep sigh of weariness. Standing there, in a dingy bar in the middle of nowhere, he must have been putting on a very pathetic show. To come all this way far from his usual life.
Getting lost on a planet that wasn't even supposed to be listed on the tourist maps of the Colonies. It had to go wrong somewhere. It was already surprising that he had managed to get this far without losing his...
- My satchel?! he shouted, tipping out of his chair.
The young man fell to the ground and squirmed like a worm. Nevertheless, he managed to get back to his feet. Ruben's arms closed several times around his torso in the vain hope of clutching his precious satchel. Under the dismayed gaze of his hosts, he bent down to look under the table. Nothing! He turned back to the bar. Nothing! Panic was getting to him. He was shaking more and more.
- My... my... where's my...? I had a satchel and... he stammered completely lost.
Everyone in the building was looking at him. From the top of the narrow mezzanine under which the counter was located, even the man who until then had been discreetly negotiating the amount of credits he had to give to the lady, risked a glance in Ruben's direction. The prostitute who accompanied him took advantage of it to subtly lighten his customer of a brooch which he carried on the lapel of his jacket.
- Your things are on the coat rack next to the door, Budee said.
- There are no thieves here, kid. Don't get so upset when you lose your stuff, shouted the old man behind the counter.
Ruben went to the coat rack and searched for his property among the smelly clothes hanging there. It was there. His black satchel. His traveling companion. He hugged it as you might do with your other half on the terminal platform after months of separation. The young man isolated himself in a corner of the room, making sure that no one could see his gestures. The satchel was adorned with a large lock that kept it closed. With his skinny fingers he turned the dial and pressed several keys. The flap of the satchel opened and he reached in, looking for something. When he finally found it, he looked up and had to hold back a small gasp of relief. He put the lock back in place and slung the shoulder strap across his chest.
- Anyway... um... where's this Pyne? he said, trying to put on a brave face.
- What the hell! What don't you understand when we tell you that Pyne will come to you when it's time, Budee bellowed, banging his fist on the counter.
The furniture shook and the glasses stacked on it shook dangerously.
- Budee! If you break one more thing I'll kick you out of here and you'll have to find another idiot to prepare those disgusting things that you drink in front of my customers, protested the old man.
The two men argued for a while, leaving Ruben in the middle of the room without an audience. He turned to the man in the deck chair, but he seemed deeply asleep. Sally was struggling with her vegetables and the half-naked woman upstairs had already disappeared into a room with her visitor. When he faced the family seated a little farther away, the father motioned for everyone to focus on their plates. Ruben didn't blame them, he didn't want to spend his evening here either. With the towak raging outside, no one would be leaving this place for a while. They were stuck here for the night.
- Come and sit down, brat. When Pyne's up there it can take a long time.
Sally was waving at him, or more precisely at someone who seemed to be a meter to Ruben's left. She then pointed her index finger towards the chair that Ruben had knocked over. The poor woman was almost blind, he said to himself before resigning himself to join her.
- Look at you, you look like you haven't eaten in a week. Do you want to order something? she continued in a motherly tone.
- I don't really feel like I have a choice, sighed Ruben.
She had put her gun across the table. Given its condition, this gun had seen many hostile environments. The barrel had three deep scratches that suggested that an animal powerful enough to scratch the metal had attacked the weapon. What finally surprised him the most was that a perfectly harmless-looking old woman had in her possession a rifle that would better suit a veteran.
- What do they serve here? he asked halfheartedly.
- Um... it's your call, today's dish or yesterday's dish.
- I'm not even surprised by such an answer, Ruben grumbled.
- That's how it is brat, this isn't Abaduk or one of the great restaurants of Bogs IV. Here, we eat whatever's available, joked Sally.
- Today's dish is fine.
Sally reached for the counter and snapped her fingers. The old man put aside his quarrel and gave her a wide, toothless smile.
- What do you want beautiful? Are you thirsty?
- A dish of the day for the kid! she said to him. He's buying, so don't bill me twice.
- I'd never do that to you, my dear. This is a respectable establishment where the ladies are treated well.
Customers who're afraid of taking a stray shot and kleptomaniac hookers on the upper floor... funny definition of respectable. Ruben was careful not to point this out out loud lest the idea of handing him over to the towak for the night cross their minds.
- Hurry up, the brat's going to pass out again.
- Please stop calling me that. My name's Ruben.
- Okay brat, she answered with a smile.
Ruben sighed, without even finding the strength to protest. The old man approached the table, a plate in his hand, and put it down without letting go.
- It's thirty credits.
Ruben glanced at the tiny piece of meat that was swimming in its juice between two boiled vegetables. It was clearly not worth it, but skipping one more meal wasn't an option. He pulled up his left sleeve, revealing an electronic bracelet that he pressed against the payment terminal on Bernard's belt. At the sound of the confirmation beep, Bernard let go of the plate and returned to his argument with Budee.
- I came all the way here to see Pyne... said Ruben to himself more than anything else. Not a fat guy who hasn't had a bath in six months. Not his blind grandmother or whoever you may be, ma'am, he continued a little louder for Sally's benefit. I came to see Pyne. Pyne and five men in a position to fulfill this contract...
A door creaked upstairs and a voice called out to Ruben from the balcony overlooking the room.
- I'm here Mr. Sobki and I think it would be reasonable for you to speak with a little more respect to the people who'll be holding your life in their hands when we hit the road.