The recreational district of Minerva was by far the most disorganized section of the station. As Zag rode the mag-train out of the commercial quarter, the clean azurite-edged facades and ornate water fountains gave way to more spartan architecture. At each station along his route prefabricated metal paneling became more common. Clearly the day-to-day inhabitants of Minerva did not share the Guild’s more… luxurious tastes when it came to building design.
When Zag departed the train some ten minutes later, he stepped directly into the bustling streets of what was colloquially known as rec-street. Here small stores and restaurants abutted each other, vying for street frontage, the way trees in a forest strain up towards the nourishing sunlight. Ramshackle ladders, stairways and balconies abounded, allowing access to the higher stories of the buildings. These second stories were almost exclusively additions made decades after the first buildings were laid down. To Zag many looked as though they were on the verge of falling over and tumbling into the street below. He had been assured by many locals that the buildings had looked that way from the second they were built.
On Minerva, rec-street was almost a hallowed place. Free from the strict regulations that governed much of life on the rest of the station, a person on rec-street could almost forget that they weren’t on terra firma. And if they had any trouble forgetting it, there were plenty of people willing to sell them a drink to help them ease their mind..
The crew were two-thirds through their second bottle of hard liquor when Zag found them. It hadn’t been hard to locate them. It was always the Ubiquitous Saviour when they’d come back from a job. The owner-bartender; Hiro, was a good friend of the crew and always kept an ear to the ground for Zag. It was in truth a symbiotic relationship. Many captains and crews came to the Saviour for the exact same reason as Zag, and that made Hiro an excellent middleman when it came to organizing less than reputable working arrangements. Hads had often mused that Hiro may well be one of the most influential powerbrokers on the whole station. If that was the case, Hiro hid it well. He was a man approaching middle-age, with long black hair, fair complexion and friendly eyes. The fact he never forgot a face and always had time for his customers made Zag inclined to believe Hiro was simply a sincere man doing his best to run a successful business.
Hads had laughed out loud when he’d ventured that opinion once.
Tonight they were in a celebratory mood. A cheer had gone up from the table when they’d spotted him entering. He’d given a demure wave, and traipsed the sticky wooden flooring of the bar to join them. No sooner than he’d sat down a glass of whiskey was forced into his hand by Damien, with a comradely slap on the back.
Before he could sip Rin was off the blocks.
“Any luck lining something up?”
Damien interjected loudly before Zag could respond, “Sheesh Rin, give the guy a break. We’ve been back on-station for all of one hour.” He hiccupped loudly.
Based on the slurring, Zag figured Damien must have been responsible for most of the missing liquor. He was disheveled and there was a glassy look to his large eyes. Rin looked as neat and tidy as ever, but there was a gleam in her eyes that suggested she’d been partaking harder than usual as well. Hads was inscrutable as ever, but Zag would bet she was no more sober than the rest. She wasn’t one to let on any potential weakness, even to her fellow crewmates.
Sharp as ever and sensing his quick regard, Hads perked up, “Come on boss have a drink. I heard Hiro say he’s got a good bottle of gin he’s sourced all the way from a distillery on Ceres.”
Zag smiled at the subtle redirection. He signaled over Hiro, and had him fetch the beautiful cherry red bottle, and four clean glasses. Hiro came and placed the bottle in the center of the table. Into each glass he then poured two large fingers of liquor. Passing these out to each of the party, he made a subtle bow and withdrew.
Zag raised his glass over the center of the table, and each of the others clinked their glasses into his, then down into wood, before draining them in a single draw. The drink was good, and the heat it sponsored in Zag’s chest lingered much longer than seemed possible.
After a moment Zag went to pick up the bottle to fill their glasses again. Much to his surprise a folded slip of paper was stuck to the bottom. Unfolding it Zag saw a clumsy note, written in a messy script. It simply read;
Think I have a client for you. The usual kind of work. Staying at the hotel that they always do. Room 302.
Zag turned to look at Hiro, who was busy nursing his own drink behind the bar. Seeing Zags look, he raised his glass and winked.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
----------------------------------------
When Zag awoke the next morning, it was in an unfamiliar room. On the furniture scattered around the room, various strangers slept. The room itself was a mess, with empty bottles, half eaten food and narcoware paraphernalia strewn around haphazardly.
Carefully, so as not to wake the sleepers, Zag rose and crossed the room towards the door, only stopping to gingerly lift his jacket off one of the sleeping women, who was using it as a blanket. Nursing a headache that would probably be haunting him for a while, Zag let himself out. The hallway outside was barren, the paint flaking from walls lined with long dead potted plants.
He made his way down an elevator to street level, and stepped outside. He recognised the area immediately. Habitation district six.
Last night had definitely gotten out of hand.
The district was colloquially known as the Sink, and it wasn't hard to see why. The spinward border of district six adjoined several large thruster modules. These modules were operated at high temperature, and the thermal gradient they produced caused district six to not only be significantly warmer than the rest of the station, but also caused a pervasive mist, as the cooler station air mixed with the warm air of the Sink. The result was a particularly depressing place to live, where mold was endemic, and every surface seemed perpetually covered in slick, tepid, condensation.
Station management had attempted to solve the problem, but it must have been that there was no solution that was cheaper than simply lowering the rents and letting the sink be the haven for the poor of Minerva station. Already sweating into his boots, Zag made his way to the nearest train-line. He’d head back to the Flavus and meet with the others before going to meet the mystery client. It always paid to have some backup.
Hads was waiting on the steps of the Flavus when Zag arrived. She was sitting and finishing the remains of some takeaway food in a disposable container. There was a glint of amusement in her eye that told Zag he must look as miserable as he felt. She picked up a second container sitting next to her and held it out for him.
“How did your night of slumming go?”
Zag took the container eagerly and responded through the first mouthful,
“You’ve probably got a better idea than me. Though I’m definitely not enjoying it so much right now.”
Hads smiled. The expression on her was so out of place that Zag was awestruck for a moment.
Had he ever seen Hads actually smile before?
The smile faded quickly, and she moved on.
“Got a plan for today, boss?”
“Got a client to meet if you’re interested in stretching your legs?”
She nodded, “As long as you do the talking. I’m far too shy.”
Zag laughed.
----------------------------------------
Room 302 of the 24/7 motel on Rec-street was easy to find. The motel catered mostly to the inebriated and those too eager or tired to find more suitable accommodation. The rooms were small, barely appointed bedrooms, with an ensuite.
In the hallway, before knocking, Hads rummaged through her pockets and produced two small circular brooches. She made some minute adjustments to the rear face of each and handed Zag one. The pin showed a bas-relief image on its circle surface, a fist-clenched trident. The symbol was an important one amongst Ice-miners out of Neptune, and thoroughly unrelated to the Flavus or her crewmembers.
“It’s a bit flimsy as disguises go”, he complained, fixing his to the breast of his jacket.
“It’s not just a misdirection,” Hads responded, affixing hers to the high collar of her blue coat. “The pins are a surveillance countermeasure. It interrupts recording devices, communicators and even live camera feeds.”
“Why the trident though?”
“Saw some ice haulers when we were docked up last night. One of them had it tattooed on his cheek.”
“So just took your fancy or…?”
Hads turned to regard Zag with an expression that questioned his intelligence.
He recovered, “Or maybe you figured that the ice haulers would probably be leaving the station soon, and that it would be good to lay a false trail in case our client tries to set us up?”
She turned back wordlessly and knocked on 302’s door.
The man who opened the door was large and broad chested. He stood almost seven feet tall, and glowered down at Zag and Hads with a glare that was at best indifference, and potentially much worse. His hair was cropped short, and his face bespoke of the hardness of his character; dark, unforthcoming eyes, tight lips and an abundance of scarring. He was clearly muscle, or so Zag thought. His eyes were those of someone who’d spent their whole life training for, anticipating and participating in violence. In his experience, men like this had little desire to enlist the help of people like Zag or crews like the Flavus.
“Name?”
Contrary to her prior comments, Hads responded.
“Hiro sent us.”
The man looked away from Zag and down at Hads, “And you are?”
This time Zag took the lead. “We’re prospective business partners. Hiro said you might have some sensitive data freight that needs doing.”
“Hmmph, I bet. Wait here.”
The unnamed man closed the door, stepping back into the room. Hads murmured to Zag under her breath. “I don’t like this Zag, why are they playing dumb?”
Zag shrugged, “It is unusual. But let’s just play along and see how it goes.”
Internally he was as wrongfooted as she was. Normally those interested in procuring their services were well informed of the parlance and process. It was also unusual in the sense that the client’s associates did not seem to know who they were meeting. Zag was hardly a celebrity, but to Zag’s knowledge there were less than a half dozen working Sling-Pirates in the entire solar system, so why did this client turn up at Minerva, searching for a sling pirate, yet fail to recognise the people he was hiring?
The door clicked open and the muscled man returned with a small case in his hand the size of a deck of cards. He handed it across to Hads, who pocketed it quickly.
“That’s all the essential details. Once you’ve reviewed it and have decided to take the job, send a confirmation via the hotel to this suite. Just a simple ‘Yes.’ will do.”
“And if the answer is no?” Zag ventured.
To this the man simply smiled and closed the door.