The Milk Runner
16 Jan 2022Nazanin Tynon
- "Another", she said, tapping twice on the cheap imitation wood paintwork of the bar.The barkeep obliged, and poured two fingers of golden brown liquid. Commander Nazanin Tynon nodded in thanks, lifted the glass, tilted it, and looked at the light glimmering on the curves of liquid clinging on the edges - and at the slight tremor of her hand. She downed it all with two gulps, grimacing a little at the burn, before tapping the glass back on the bar.
She exhaled slowly through pursed lips and rapped her knuckle on the bar again.
The barkeep cocked an eyebrow, and slowly and deliberately poured two fingers.
- "You keep this pace up, and I'll be selling you fewer of these tonight than I had hoped," the barkeep said with a lopsided grin.
Nazanin lifted the glass on her lips and let the cheap whisky substitute flow down. Two slightly slower gulps later it was gone.
- "Worried about your business?" Nazanin muttered, rolling the empty lowball glass in her hand before setting it down.
The barkeep occupied themself with wiping some unseen spot on the bar, making a show of the task. Leisurely guitar string plucking sounded from the speakers in the background.
- "Have to make up with quantity for the lack of quality", the barkeep said, pouring a fingerbreadth in the glass. "And any quantity of this is better taken in it's proper pace", the barkeep said wiggling the bottle. "Wanna talk about it?"
Nazanin rolled the bottom of the glass against the bar, but didn't lift it.
- "I dunno. Guess you've heard them all around here. Close brushes with the inevitable."
- "Believe it or not, talking about it is for your benefit, not mine. But I kinda get paid to do this", the barkeep said with a wide grin, and leaned back against the backlit shelf filled with an assortment of bottles.
- "Yeah, sure, why not," Nazanin muttered and took a sip.
- "I guess that I kinda was telling myself I wouldn't need to deal with stuff like this. That I'd left all that behind. No more tolerating jobs that kept me up at night. After saving the creds for a small tugboat of my own, I'd be all set, you know? Just flying along the Orion Spur, maybe further. Hauling couple a dozen tons of simple stuff at a time: copper, bad but legal booze, low degree tech. Enough profit for fuel, maintenance, insurance, some creature comforts, you know? Low key enough to avoid making a big blip on the radars of local pirates. Stuff I could jettison in a tough spot without bankrupting myself completely."
- "Nothing wrong with a honest day's work."
- "Yeah. Lots of time to look at the stars. Some cartography on the side. Time to catch up on my reading. Just started this dusty old book about two boys who like flying kites."
- "Light reading, huh", the barkeep said, head slightly cocked to the side, "But sure. Sounds nice."
- "Sometimes, I like going out on walks. Ammonia ice drifting around my boots. Looking at the sun come up on small moons. Even got one of them scanners on an impulse buy, to take samples of god damned bacteria-".
Nazanin's voice broke and she quickly emptied the glass and turned to look out the window at the blinking lights of the landing pads. A Type 6 set down with a thunk that traveled through the superstructure. It's thrusters belched a few pops and things wen't quiet again.
- "I guess you saw something else than bacteria this time?"
Nazanin drew a long breath and sighed it out slowly.
- "I thought I was doing some good. Had picked up a couple escape pods from a crash site. Thought I'd check another signal before returning to orbit and handing them over to the authorities. Be done with a late supper and out the mailslot. Way before they'd thaw out, wake up and walk out back to their old lives. Poor buggers had been laying there in the dust for who knows how long."
The barkeep filled her glass. Nazanin looked at it for a while, just swirling the drink around.
- "It was a small station. I didn't even pay any attention to it's name. After dropping out of glide I was fiddling with the usual checks: altitude, velocity, distance. Adjusting the approach while some canyons rolled underneath, nothing special. The place was dark, I didn't see any traffic, the pad lights were a bit dimmer than usual. It was on the night side and I just thought maybe people had gone to sleep or something. I was yawning myself, burning the midnight oil, not thinking that clearly."
Nazanin scratched at a small dent in the bar, running a short bitten fingernail along a scrape.
- "Ground control sounded a little... off. A cheap synth voice, not very pleasant. I thought, maybe the night shift wasn't the talkative type, just pressing buttons for recorded pings and acks. Or maybe they'd put it on auto while dozing off in their chair. I got the landing permit: pad zero one. Slowed down to near hover. The landing pads seemed to be the only things lit down there, but I couldn't see proper pad ID lights for some reason. No landing assist provided. I tried switching night vision off, because the green filter was screwing with details. Maybe the painted numbers could be seen better without them."
The barkeep shifted to lean closer as Nazanin continued.
- "I would've tried my ship's floodlights next, but before I got close enough, my comms and targeting screen started glitching, output all jumbled with numbers - some kind of disruption I've never seen before. Warnings started bleating, red lights flashing, and I saw some kind of ships or drones or something taking off at the far end of the facility. There were at least three of them. I froze for maybe a second. They started shooting at me. Hot streaks flew right in front of my canopy, my shields started to melt away. I pulled back and right hard on the stick, shoved throttle to full and hit boost. Turning my nose towards the sky, looking for escape vector, I kept on a tight roll hoping to make myself a harder-to-hit target. I was squeezing my stomach and holding my breath against the high-G. My flightsuit clamped in hard. All the while shots kept spraying past me and thunking on my shields and I think some even got through to the hull. Tunnel vision was growing and a slow grey out was setting in. I was scared shitless of losing control: blacking out or my ship systems glitching away. And I, I-"
The barkeep gently laid a hand on Nazanin's. "Take your time."
Nazanin's voice was constricted, but she continued.
- "I jettisoned my cargo. I don't know why exactly. They didn't seem like pirates, they said nothing. They didn't threaten or ask for anything. I think I kind of forgot to try countermeasures. I just jettisoned all. A handful of containers of salvage. The escape pods."
Nazanin emptied the glass.
- "The shooting had stopped by the time I reached orbit. The pods must've still been falling then, many klicks down below. I picked a heading as far away as I could - here. Locked the course, and put on cruise assist. Started reading ship logs to keep busy; Sung Lee. Pawel Bialkowski. Amelia Bialkowski. Zakhar Bialkowski."
Slow guitar strumming changed to a gravelly voice singing over what sounded like elevator muzak.
- "Ah, fuck." Nazanin spat under her breath.
The barkeep leaned lower, and sought Nazanin's eyes.
- "Hey. You got out in one piece. That's a win for the good guys in my book", the barkeep said. She saw something, a wavering in Nazanin's eyes, and continued, "Listen. My shift's about to end. How about you and I get something to eat? A guy called Chen at the hab ring makes a mean bowl of Kung Pao. You can hardly tell it's not real chicken."
Nazanin raised her head, meeting her gaze directly for the first time.
The barkeep continued: "...maybe find you a place to sleep the long day off." She quickly added with a grin: "The motels here at the concourse are crappy and overpriced."
Tugging Nazanin's arm softly, she said: "I think you could do better than slumming it in a cramped cockpit. For tonight at least."