Epilogue
The bar in Atlas Spire was a real shithole.
The people here were rough—most looked like they’d never been exposed to a bath.
Even the jukebox was rough. It played computer-generated music that skipped or stuttered every few seconds.
The beer was warm and tasted of old socks.
Fermented algae always tasted like that.
It all reminded me of Dreswick. I smiled and then grimaced as I took another swig of the foul-tasting brew.
A screen on the wall played nonstop ads, which annoyed me. A Softbiotics ad was currently showing cyborgs in sleek armor doing the work of a dozen people, saving lives (and money, of course).
I sneered at it before finishing my drink and ordering a second one from the auto-bar.
The auto-bar’s long arm set down a metal cup but wouldn’t let me have it until I inserted a chip into a slot in its rectangular “forearm.” It released the glass, and I took a long drink, wincing.
Then I grumbled, “Quit it.”
Quit what?
“You know what.”
If I don’t metabolize the alcohol in your blood, you’ll become impaired.
“That’s the general idea.”
That’s a bad idea.
I stilled. In the bar mirror, I saw the pair enter. They were cleaner than most, but some travelers were clean—me being one of them since I had an unhealthy obsession with the shower on Rapscallion . It was the way they walked and moved. They were cool, professional, and overly confident.
Hunters. The third set this month.
They wore heavy coats to conceal their weapons and probably shock-proof vests. They approached, with one coming up on either side of where I sat at the bar.
“Hello, Callum Bennett,” the man to my left said.
I took another drink and managed not to wince. I set down the cup before saying, “This swill is awful. And you got the wrong guy.”
“Nope. We always get the right guy,” the man to my right said.
“Just leave me alone,” I said.
Lefty chuckled. “That ain’t going to happen, friend. You’ve got a bounty of ten million chips on your head.”
“We ain’t leaving without you. Tekita Voss wants you, so we’re gonna bring you to her. But we’ll give you two options. You can come with us pain-free, or you can come with us in a heap of pain,” Righty said.
“I choose the third option.”
Righty was confused. “There is no?—”
I broke Righty’s nose with the metal cup and then spun and ducked Lefty’s stun stick that he’d whipped out impressively fast. This duo had clearly been in this line of work for a while, but they didn’t have a Byte.
I grabbed the stick, shoved it up, and connected with his face.
He shook, stumbling back from the shock.
As he fell, I grabbed his head and slammed it against the bar. He fell in a heap.
I turned back to Righty, who was struggling to see through tears.
He was fending me off with his forearm, so I slammed the heel of my palm into his solar plexus.
His breath flew out, splattering my face with blood from his broken nose.
As he fought for more air, I slammed his head against the bar, and he collapsed exactly like his partner.
I dropped an extra chip on the bar and left. It hadn’t been busy, but the five other patrons all watched me while pretending not to watch. As soon as I left, I picked up my pace. I wiped my face with my sleeve. “Byte, prep the ship.”
I began the moment they entered the bar. If you haven’t noticed already, it’s safe to assume this station’s compromised.
“Yeah, no shit.”
Where to now?
I thought for only a moment. “Somewhere the corporations don’t go.”
Any place the corporations avoid is deemed either too desolate or too hostile, and in many cases, it’s both.
“It can’t be worse than TerraSoft-11,” I said.
I was wrong.