"You know, you probably shouldn't even be serving me here."

The bartender raised an eyebrow at the patron.

"Criminal?"

"Yep," the scrawny man replied, "I ran goods under the nose of the government for years. I made good money off of it as well."

"What sort of goods?"

The man shrugged, taking a swig of his port.

"Whatever people wanted. Medical supplies, contraband drugs, weapons, you name it and at some point I've probably dealt in it. Luxury goods though, mostly. No-one can afford to buy most luxuries in stores anymore 'cause the prices keep going up, so I sell cheaper and still manage to make a profit. So yeah, pretty much anything, to be honest."

The bartender raised an eyebrow.

"Except in living creatures, I take it?"

The man hurriedly set down his drink, nodding at the bartender.

"Yeah, no people or animals, obviously. I'm a black market fencer, not a monster!"

The bartender nodded.

"Well, in that case I'm happy to continue serving you. You'd be surprised how many people like yourself come through here."

The man raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked around the empty bar.

"Quite a lot, is it?"

The bartender rolled his eyes playfully.

"More than you'd think, that's for certain. It's extremely rare we get many visitors this far out, but a fair few are smugglers, and to a man they're all lingering here to put off their departure before they leave the Sol System for good. I take it that's why you're here too?"

The man sighed a heavy sigh and slumped a little over the bar.

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. Too many corpos out there now, too many cops and customs officers and not enough freedom. Had a close call out by Phobos a couple months back. I ain't risking that again."

"Out to the colonies then? Whereabouts you off to, anywhere in particular?"

The smuggler shrugged again, taking another swig of his port.

"Not sure. Out to the Reaches, that's all I know. Alpha Centauri, maybe. Or Barnard's Star. I haven't decided yet."

The smuggler raised his glass and finished the last of his measure.

"Either way, there'll be plenty of work for someone like me. I might even be able to work legally out there, you know, become an independent transporter rather than a smuggler. The corpos ain't got much of a grip on the reaches yet, so they ain't got their monopolies. I can keep meself in business and keep back a little something to buy a little plot of land on one of the planetside colonies one day. Heh, that'd be nice. What about you, barkeep? You can't be planning on staying here forever, surely?"

The bartender nodded at the man's empty glass.

"Same again?"

The smuggler nodded.

"Aye, that sounds nice. What did you say this was, Tawny Port?"

"That's right sir, Tawny Port. As for me I haven't really thought about it a lot, to be honest. I've been here a good few years now, and I can't see myself moving out yet."

"You'll have to one day, boss-man. When the corpos move in on you and start buying up everything in this belt like they've done the rest of the system you'll not be able to stay here."

The bartender just nodded noncommittedly.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. As it stands at the moment there's a few more people that'll be trickling out past Oort, so I can afford to keep in business for a little while longer. Well, the landlord and lady can anyway. When the time comes I'll take my pay and follow you all out into the colonies, most like."

"That's not a bad idea. Hey, keep my contact details, won't you? If things go wrong for you and you need some work, or hell, if you just need a ride out of this system, give me a call. I can always use another pair of hands on a flight, even with the non-fencing stuff. That'll be doubly true when I'm trying to set myself up for business out there."

The bartender nodded, sliding a notebook and pen over the table to the man so he could write down his details.

"I suppose you should probably have my own as well. How is it that you're moving your operations out now then? From my understanding a lot of people in your line of work moved out years ago."

The man sighed deeply, but not quite unhappily.

"Believe it or not that was actually pretty good for me. Most of my competition got caught, which as you can imagine was very good for business. I was never caught though. I'm good at what I do, barkeep, better than most. They never caught me, but recently the government has really clamped down on illegal activity; most of my suppliers and buyers have been taken in, and pretty much all of my contacts have gone dark. Even if I never get caught, that's not much good if I've got nothing to sell and no-one to sell it to."

The bartender conceded the point with a polite incline of the head as the man continued.

"But I'll still be a smuggler. It's in my blood, you see. My ancestors were from Cornwall back on earth, before my grandparents moved to Venus that is. At one point the region was completely reliant on smuggling for the local economy, since there was little else there other than a rocky coastline with plenty of caves and coves."

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"A real smuggler's dream, then?"

The man smiled, laughing a little.

"Oh, like you wouldn't believe. Like you wouldn't believe..."

The smuggler trailed off for a moment, but the bartender allowed him his seconds of silence. There was no need to rush this conversation, after all. When the man came to half a minute later he sheepishly smiled at the bartender in apology, but the man behind the bar was quick to wave it away. It was no crime for a man to want a few seconds alone with his thoughts, after all.

The two of them were silent for a few seconds more before the smuggler opened his mouth again, this time to ask about the little station rather than to tell about the history of his family.

"Is there a terminal here? To leave a message for me loved ones back on Venus?"

The bartender nodded.

"The second door on the left if you go out the right hand side, the opposite if you go out the left."

"Two terminal rooms? How many apiece?"

"Six per room, not that we get that many out here anymore."

The smuggler smiled sadly at him.

"This place must have been mighty popular way back when."

The bartender nodded back.

"When I first started here the bar was always full, the rooms always booked and the terminals always in use. Now... well, you've seen what it's like now."

"I used to have to avoid places like this, since I was always worried that there'd be someone there that I'd done wrong, or some police officer waiting for me. Now all the places like this are shuttering their doors as the corpos move in, and the people themselves are being pushed out to the colonies; I wish I'd come here when this place was at its prime, when I had the chance to experience it properly. Now it seems the Kuiper Belt is going the way of the Main, and the chance is gone. Ah well, maybe there's a couple that have been able to set up shop in the Reaches. I hope so; quiet nights and good liquor have always been welcome friends to me. Hey, maybe you'll be able to set up a small bar in the Reaches one day!"

The bartender nodded, smiling.

"That'd be nice. Trouble is the colonies have no past to attach myself to, that's all. Nothing that would anchor me there like this place does."

The smuggler huffed out a laugh.

"They might not have a past, but at least they've got a future. This place?"

The man gestured around at the empty tables behind them.

"This place serves more ghosts than patrons, and more memories than liquor."

The bartender chuckled a little.

"Well, at least I've got the one patron at the moment."

"Not for much longer, sorry to say. I'm headed out tomorrow, which is why I asked about the terminals."

"It'll take a few days for the transmission to relay. Are you sure you don't want to wait for a response?"

The man shook his head sadly.

"I can't. If I wait any longer then I'll never leave. I'll give you my transponder codes, and you can relay the reply when it gets to you. I mean, if that's alright with you, of course."

"Of course it is. Won't you be running dark though?"

The man waved away his question, drinking from his glass once more.

"Normally I would, but I've got nothing to worry about out here. Besides, I'm not even transporting anything that the corpos will care about. Well, not enough to chase me to the colonies anyway. Thank you for your kindness, boss."

"It's nothing, really. I've enjoyed your company these last few days and nights. Good luck in setting up amongst the colonies."

The man nodded, smiling slightly at him, gently raising his glass.

"Hey, any chance I could buy a bottle or two of this stuff before I head out?"

"Of course. Twenty-five credits for a bottle aged ten years, forty for a bottle aged twenty."

The man nodded, reaching into his wallet.

"I'll take three aged ten years and one aged twenty. You know, for special occasions. Here, I'll save the twenty years for when you contact me! We'll meet up again and have a few drinks, except this time you'll be drinking as well."

The bartender nodded kindly at the man, setting down the tumbler he'd been cleaning and taking out a second before pouring out a measure of the twenty-year aged port into each.

"My shift is ending for the night, so I don't see any harm in sharing a glass. Besides, you'd better try the twenty years before buying it."

"Of course! I'm happy to pay for yours as well, barkeep."

The bartender waved him off with one hand, setting down the bottle with the other.

"Don't worry about it. You've been a good customer these last few days, and I've got no complaints to make about you. Have this glass on the house, then I'll see about getting the bottles you asked for sent to your ship."

The smuggled put the credits for the bottles down on the table, smiling at the knowledge that he'd be getting a free drink out of it at least.

"You're a good man, boss. A better man than me, that's for sure. To your health, barkeep!"

The bartender smiled as they tapped their glasses together and toasted before savouring the taste of the fine wine. The smuggler smacked his lips and let out a satisfied sigh.

"Now that is one fine drink. I'll keep my order as it was, thank you kindly."

The bartender nodded in response, absentmindedly swirling what was left of the drink in his glass.

"Should be one-hundred and fifteen credits in that case, sir. Anything else?"

The smuggler shrugged.

"Ah, what the hell. Chuck us a six pack of lager in there. You got any of the stuff they make on Europa?"

"Let me check a moment for you. Uh... yes, I think we stock Bitter Cyns, if that's alright with yourself?"

The man nodded his response, smiling widely.

"Sounds good to me, boss-man! How much for a six pack?"

The bartender shrugged in response.

"We don't normally sell the bottles of beer, but I can't see it doing any harm. Five credits sound fair to you?"

The smuggler got out his wallet again, pulling out a five-credit bill and adding it to the small pile already on the counter.

"Yeah, that sounds fair. About what I'd pay in a store for a six pack, so I won't complain, especially not for Europan lager."

"They've always made the best beer over there, haven't they? Must be all the central European migrants when the planet was first colonised."

"Must be, yeah. Whatever the reason, I don't see them staying in business in Sol for much longer, not without coming under corporate ownership anyway."

"Yeah. That'll be a damn shame, and no mistake. Still, what can you do?"

The man shrugged again in response, downing what was left of his port and rising from the barstool.

"Me and you? Bugger all, I'm afraid. Here, thanks for the drinks, bartender. Make sure to contact me if ever you need me; you've been kind enough these last few days, and I'd see that kindness repaid if I can."

The bartender simply nodded his thanks before the man turned to walk away.

"Thanks for the drinks boss, I'll see you around."

The bartender and the smuggler nodded stiffly at each other as they went their separate ways for the night. Well, the bartender had at least enjoyed the company while it had lasted. He spent a brief moment wondering on who the next person to pass through might be, and when they might pass through for that matter, but he stopped himself with a slow shake of the head. In these parts it could be anyone at anytime, so there was no use dwelling on it.

Besides, he needed to close up for the night whilst the man made his transmission back to whatever family he had back home on Venus. The bartender hoped they'd all be okay, and that the smuggler knew what he was doing.

The man was nice enough to offer him a ride out of here whenever he needed it, after all.