A freight captain in the red jump suit of the Haroldson Freight Corporation burped loudly under the pale purple neon circular sign above the entrance to Delfi’s eatery. He looked towards the group contentedly as he continued down the outer hall. The establishment extended from the rim of the station by about fifty meters. This design offered the best view of outside traffic. A long silver freighter with a rabbit emblem passed the left side of the restaurant; its thrusters emitted four disks of neon blue tinged by erratic lines of crimson energy before the vessel vanished into subspace.
None of the customers looked up from their phones or their food to notice the traffic. A counter with comfortable red leather stools invited them towards the back. A small computer at each eating area allowed for instant ordering. There were few customers at the time of Fade’s arrival, and most of those were freight haulers who sat at the booths and chatted over coffee and sandwiches. A group of young men with dyed hair and black leather jackets sat at the far edge of the counter; they twisted on the revolving seats and sipped beer from dark green bottles. Fade told the others to find a booth as he took the black case back from Bert and rang the service bell at the counter. A short, heavy-set, bald man eventually sauntered out. He was only half Fade’s height, and had to strain his head upwards to speak with him. His robotic voice was dense, and scratchy.
“It’s you... back now. Long... time it’s been... with you.”
Fade pushed the black case on the counter, moved his eyes to it and then back to the little man, whose eyes widened at the sight of it.
“Good... More business. I’ll take you back... to see the... boss. Let him down... you he didn’t... bet on.”
The booth seats were made of iron frame with a few thin coatings of compressed saw dust that had worn past their usefulness long ago. Chips broke from the sides, revealing the cold dirty iron amidst the splits, warps, and breaks within the outer fabric. The lights were dim and yellow as if a conspiracy brewed at every occupied table. The floor was covered with old tile that cracked and peeled around the table posts. Crumbs and pieces of food stuck within the openings, the corners, and sides of the stools.
Bert tapped the computer for a beer, then took the liberty of ordering one for Nicole.
“You’re a man. You can take it. Now my boss, he isn’t able to get past the second glass without passing out.”
Nicole suppressed a laugh, then waited patiently for her drink.
A bottle shattered into jagged green pieces against a window to the far left. When a small robot appeared to sweep the mess, bottle flung from the nearby booth rained broken glass over it. A few freighter captains who were finished left their dirty trays at the tables and left. The few remaining customers kept to themselves. The timid shivered as they took their food out of the eatery; one woman walked away leaving a cream Danish on her table because she hurried for the exit. Bert shook his head as a thin waitress with frizzy blonde hair frayed from cheap dyes brought their drinks. Her dress swayed as she passed the counter quickly. Two groups of rough clad men admired her boisterously and made insulting remarks. One of the young men claimed to be her lover and begged personal favors. The waitress blushed a bit as she served the bottles Bert had ordered.
“Fade may be a while,” Bert said. “He has some business.”
Bert lit a cigarette and contemplated his green bottle. It was the same imperial blend advertised by the holograph in the halls. He took a big swig, made an unaffected face, and took another swig before puffing on his cigarette.
“Someone ought to teach those punks how to behave around a woman.”
Bert yanked the cool, damp bottle by its neck and took a swig. He waited a few minutes until the ashes of his cigarette fell freely into a little tin tray. The men at the counter continued to insult the waitress as she served them drinks.
“They better not push me too far,” Bert whispered, “I’m in a bad mood as it is, and I might decide not to care what the boss thinks.”
Jupiter became visible through the left side as a bright ball of orange, yellow and red mists. Sunlight glinted around the side of the planet’s envelope and reflected a great orange storm on the planet’s northern hemisphere. The moons at the side appeared as dark spots against the visible sun until they orbited outwards and reflected sunlight toward the station itself. The waitress delivered yet more drinks to the men at the counter but tried to keep her distance. A purple haired man in a poncho leaned across the counter and lifted her over his shoulder by her rear. She punched his back as he pinched her.
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“Hey baby, you have a nice little tush back here.”
“Let me go. I have work to do!”
They took turns pinching her. The purple haired man pulled her over the counter and sat her on a stool. He kept his hands clasped about her waist as she struggled to break free. They plopped their drinks in front of her like a peace offering. Then the others took turns inviting their hands inside her uniform. She closed her eyes and offered no further resistance. The man in the poncho gave her to another guy, who held her from the behind while he pulled a needle from the poncho, filled it, tested it, and whispered something in her ears. She tried to shrink away. The purple haired man held out her arm to administer the drug. Only, he was suddenly in a headlock. The needle plunged into his chest. Bert then kicked him back to his friends. The waitress broke free from her captors and ran to the back.
“You bastard!” yelled the purple haired man in the poncho. “That stuff ain’t meant for men!”
A skinny man with a red mohawk and a nose ring rushed Bert, along with a dark-haired guy in an old gray jacket two sizes too small. Bert picked up the skinny man an threw him at the other; they ended up in a heap against the counter. Bert assumed a fighting stance. The man who received the drug shook his head so quickly that his hair became a purple blur. He pulled out a retractable blade, a shining titanium-platinum alloy, finely sharpened. Bert kicked it from his hand; it stabbed the table.
“You made a big mistake messin’ with me freighter boy.”
“How’d you come to that estimate. I’m ten times the fighter you are, and I ain’t no freighter boy either.”
Bert stared down his opponent for a moment. Then a metal pipe from behind sent him face down over the floor.
“Because I have friends, freighter boy.”
Two other men stood over Bert, one with neon red hair kept his boot on Bert’s back, while another with green fuzzy hair smacked the iron pipe against his hand.
“Let’s cut his heart out right here,” said the green hair.
“I want to know what his brains look like,” suggested another.
The purple haired man pulled his knife out of the table and bent over his victim, “I suggest we drag him somewhere more private and do both.”
Nicole kicked the knife from his hand, straight upwards, and caught it by the handle.
“What the heck!?” the man exclaimed.
Nicole blocked their punches and launched a counter assault on the purple haired man’s jaw. Her fist landed threw him against the empty booths. She knocked the other two senseless with quick punches, then turned to confront a man readying himself to throw his knife through her. Bert pulled the knife wielder to the floor before he could release his weapon; his jaw landed with a crack, crunch. The man with green fuzzy hair rolled back up and rushed Nicole. His long sharp fingernails swiped. She kicked his arms back and punched him dead center between the eyes three times.
The remaining crew were easy knockouts, but she had barely finished with them when the purple haired man lunged over the booths with his knife. He pinned Nicole against the window and pulled her to the floor by the collar of her shirt. It ripped open down to her waist. He raised his knife to stab when Bert caught him by the arms, lifted him, threw him against booth, and bashed his head into the table several times before escorting him to the exit and throwing him outside. Nicole stood, still in a daze from having the back of her head slammed into the window. Bert continued throwing the gang out the restaurant, one by one, like they were sacks of sugar.
“I’m gettin’ too damn old for this,” Bert glanced her way, “Hey Nick, help me drag this last one out before I bust--” The man over his shoulder hit the floor with a thud. Nicole rubbed the back of her head, blissfully unaware that the front of her shirt was sliced and torn open, gauze and all. Only when Bert’s jaw dropped did she cover the view with her arm.
“Bust!” Bert repeated. “Tiny but still… Sorry, I mean,” Bert shook his head. “Holy crap! Don’t tell me you’ve been hiding that all this time.”
Nicole blushed, “I haven’t been hiding anything.”
“Then why’d ya go and wrap yourself up like a mummy?”
“It’s a long story that I don’t want to go into; besides, I never intended to stay in this uniform. I just never got the chance to change.”
“I thought I liked- I mean I thought you were kind of feminine. Now I feel better. I mean- that’s what I mean. I don’t care what you are. You pulled some damn good moves on these bastards. Saved my skin. I’m more than grateful. Don’t care what you are. You want my shirt?”
“No, I’m not ashamed of myself so much that I’d wear something that disgusting.”
“Now that I think of it, you’d look good in that yellow swimsuit if you opened that pony tail back there, or something with a skirt even though you’re kinda small.”
Would you please stop talking about it? I’ll wear what I want to wear,”
“What do you want to wear?”
“I’m fine with cute clothes, but certainly nothing of yours.”
Bert smelt his shirt, grimaced, and shrugged it off while Nick turned towards the window to roll the gauze back around her chest, this time with a light hand that proved less restrictive. She then tied her torn shirt together as best she could while Bert threw the remaining man out of the eatery. When the defeated party awoke outside the restaurant, they turned away quickly.