NINE

Only a pair of dangling, rusted electrical wires remained where there once was a sign, which identified the local watering hole. Arissa tried to recall the name that used to glow above the sand and sun blasted doors of the seedy bar.

Bungler's Pune? Rutger's Room?

It had been a long time. She yanked open what used to be an automatic sliding door, entered, and pulled the rusted, screeching door closed behind her. No one seemed to care.

The ceiling hosted a few other dangling wires, further evidence that a light bulb thief of some kind had passed through the system. What little light remained in the bar was provided by flickering menu tablets on low-power setting, a holographic projection of galactic news, and dim fluorescents that bordered the ceiling around the bar, making it look more like a watchtower than a place of service.

Arissa walked up to said watchtower, plopped down on a stool in relieved comfort, and pointed at the half empty drink in the her neighboring patron's hand.

"One of those."

The bartender, a man that was gaunt enough to be called "skeletal," nodded and reached for the corresponding ingredients, or, ingredient, a straight shot of whiskey.

"Nice choice," the neighboring patron said, falling easily for the I'll have what he's having, ploy. "You drop in on that rick-buck?"

To Arissa's recollection, "Rick Buck" was local speak for "rickety bucket." Jack's ship.

"How can you tell?"

"I'm a man of deductive reasoning, I guess. People on the fance flys don't like Centauri Whiskey." His tired nature reminded Arissa of Jack, in a way or two. He was younger, but had the same, diminished interest in using his facial muscles unless the occasion called for it. His head was shaved clean bald, likely to keep the desert sand at bay.

"They're missing out," Arissa said, accepting her drink from the bartender. She raised the glass. "To Alpha Centauri, and its cheap exports."

The man was enthused, but not enthralled. He lifted and tipped his glass about an inch in Arissa's direction, then took a gulp. Arissa turned her back to the bar, scanning the room for Jakob's old, familiar face. She would prefer to find him with her own eyes rather than ask for guidance. Even basic information like that counted as a favor in places like Jada.

Still, she had made a "friend" at the bar, which could be useful if one of the all-to-common bar fights started. They were more like bar wars, or bar crusades, really. She made her roundabout way towards one of the few women in the place. Girls had a tendency to watch each other's backs in places like—

Smuggler's moon! That's it.

She snapped her fingers at the mental victory. Girls had a tendency to watch each other's backs in places like Smuggler's Moon. There was usually a pretty volatile sex trade operation in the area. Come to think of it, she probably should have warned Jack about that.

Arissa grabbed a chair next to the woman that was otherwise drinking alone.

"May I?"

"Sure thing, hot stuff."

Arissa raised an eyebrow at the response, but joined the woman anyway. Before she could start up her "find Jakob" tactics, the woman cut her off.

"So, what kind of deeds are you into?"

"Deeds?" Arissa asked.

"Yes. Dirty ones, I hope."

Arissa immediately regretted approaching the woman, who was obviously blasted beyond reason.

"Sorry, I have to go. I'm looking for a friend."

"Oh, a friend? Is he cute? You know there's a three way discount, right?" The woman's voice sounded ridiculously chipper, almost cartoonish, almost... programmed.

"Oh, Jesus Christ." Arissa put her face in her palm. "State model number."

The woman's back went rigid as a board. Her eyes flashed. "Pleasure-X, Elegant Series, all rights reserved Bennett Tech. Bennett Tech assumes no responsibility for injuries that occur during pleasure use including but not limited to broken bones, blindness, cuts, impotence, or pregnancy. Bennett Tech also…"

Arissa tuned the droid's speech out and walked away, now noticing that half of the bar was laughing at her failed attempts to make friends with a sex robot. She tried to mitigate the damage to her own savvy image with some comedy.

"Out of my price range."

This garnered a few more laughs, enough that she could count the foray as a draw before returning to her seat at the bar. The young, bald patron was just receiving a refill when the gaunt bartender silently motioned an offer to share the wealth with Arissa. She downed her first glass to make room and held out the empty.

"Just had her installed last month," the lanky man said, nodding to the droid and still pouring whiskey. "I only get ten percent and she's already paid off for the year."

"Thirsty town," Arissa said, pulling back her glass before it started overflowing.

"That's desert life." He moved off, and the young patron took up the conversational torch.

"A ship that size," he said. "And no friends to drink with?"

"They're all fixing the rick' buck'."

"Bummer."

Suddenly Arissa was unnerved by her neighbor. Inquiring about friends was a red flag. The question behind the question was usually something like "would anyone care if you disappeared?"

"I'm Tig." The man held out his hand.

"Sariss." The fake name rolled off her tongue, natural as breath.

"What brings you to trap like this, Sariss?"

"I'm looking for a friend."

"Is he in trouble?" Tig took a generous gulp.

He? That was an interesting detail for Tig to just inherently know.

"No trouble. His name is Jakob. Does he still come in here?"

"What's he look like?"

"Old and ugly as shit." Arrisa winced at the whiskey in her throat. "Digs little girls. Has a bunch of missing teeth. Couldn't put two and two together to save his life."

Tig stared at her blankly, frozen. His face flickered, distorted, and dissolved into a different one entirely—into Jakob's. The old man offered up his familiar smile.

"What gave me away? The projection should be flawless."

Arissa smiled back. "Hi Jakob. You referred to my friend as 'he.' Better work on your role-playing. Not trying to be insulting, I'm just concerned for your wellbeing."

"Fair enough. On the flip, if you're going to go throwing fake names around you better do more than change one damn letter." He put his hand on her shoulder, which led to an immediate hug. "You're too predictable, looking for an old contact in a seedy bar."

"This used to be your favorite place."

"Exactly. Used to be. I'm only here because your ID was logged at the docking bay and I knew you'd be coming."

 "What? I was logged?" Arissa was just about ready to run for the Odin. "When did they get scanners? I didn't know—"

"Don't worry." Jakob extended a calming hand. "The log was mysteriously deleted. I figured it was safe to assume you came here because someone was after you."

"Ever the wiser," Arissa said, relaxing just a little. "But it's not me. It's a friend. She's got some tech in her that we've never seen before."

Jakob held out the same, staying hand again, this time the gesture was more stern.

"This isn't a good place to talk business. Let's start walking."

They did, and once they were out into the oppressive atmosphere, Jakob did his best to sound casual, blending in.

"I haven't had company in a long time. How many of your friends are coming over for dinner?"

Arissa counted on her fingers.

"Just three. Well, four if you count an A.I."

"I see you're far from a cyber rights activist. Of course she counts."

"You said dinner. She doesn't eat."

"Semantics." Jakob waved the conversation away. "Call your four friends. Tell them I'm excited to have them over."