Resource exploitation came before colonization when mankind began to stretch beyond Earth. When commercial probes scouted Mars and its two moons, the discovery of a vast deposit of rich ores and minerals on Phobos prompted a scurry of activity, as the supplies to establish bases of extraction were delivered and the moon was carefully pushed away from its planet to form a more stable, distant orbit. Constructs blossomed over and around the moon, vast containers to store the metals until they could be shipped, huge drills and sifters: all duplicated a number of times, as vying interests laid their claim to the moon in the nebulous disputes of ownership that afflicted the early spacefaring years. They consumed the moon, leaving a riddled corpse of rock and dust, and after everything valuable had been claimed the stations themselves were abandoned, whatever couldn't be easily reclaimed left derelict.
Arms braced against both of the pilot seats, I stared wide-eyed at the pock-scarred moon and the web of satellites and stations connected to it as our shuttle quietly approached. Collisions with small bits of debris had scored many of the platforms but most still looked in remarkable condition, preserved by the emptiness of space.
"Where are we going?" I asked, glancing between the men seated before me.
Jardine opened his mouth but Ivalian, who had adopted an exasperated mien of the past hour of his partner's constant prattle, cut him off.
"Lot of machinery left up here, after all the companies cleared out. Didn't take long for someone to move in, make the habitation areas airtight again and start linking them together to form a complex. It was a base for a gang of raiders who needed to lay low somewhere, called the Raptors. Over time it transformed into a kind of outlaw's paradise; they're still there, but now it's open to anyone who comes by, with them running the show enough to keep things livable. Not many rules on the station, either, but if anyone makes too much trouble they disappear real quick."
Jardine looked back toward me at that.
"Do make certain you are confident in what you are doing, dear friend. But rest assured, our warnings are solely out of concern for your well-being, and we have the utmost faith that you shall navigate the coming trials with wisdom and shrewd thinking, never once stepping astray."
The description had begun to set me on edge, but Jardine's words drew a smile again and I nodded to the pair.
"Thank you. I will. And if it hadn't been for you two, and for Riss, I don't know how I ever would have managed to get this far. I appreciate it."
Ivalian grunted. "Good to finally have someone grateful for a change," hands leaving the piloting console as a thud resonated through the shuttle's frame. "But you'd best get your things together and be on your way. We're here."
I had little to gather beyond what I was already wearing, so after bidding the two men farewell I found myself stepping through the airlock and down a passage that large metal door with a thick glass plate in the center. As I reached it the door started to hiss, and I leaned forward to take in the station beyond as I waited for it to open.
The Roost sprawled out in all directions, a jigsaw mess of modular and standalone station components all cut, welded, and sealed together in a way that looked ever on the verge of breaking apart, to the layman's eye. Or perhaps to any eye. I stepped free of the airlock, wondering at the marvels of reclamation and improvisation that had given birth to this place. There was a hanger bay, viewable over a balcony railing nearby, open to space but for a narrow field of some sort that projected across the opening, making a small barrier to contain the atmosphere. A quick glance of the ships within told me that only vessels in need of repair were permitted in the docks, while functional ones were relegated to external airlocks.
I wandered for a time, exploring the multi-colored hallways and listening in to the conversations that large groups carried any time I passed nearby. The people were diverse: some matching colors with their companions, others a mix of odd pieces of equipment. There were merchants and what looked like civilians walking alongside heavily armored warriors with horrific scars, and on occasion I could see blocky freight robots towing cargo in the wake of their owners. The attitudes I encountered ranged from cautious to brash, and I lowered my shoulders and slimmed my profile to ease the concerns of any who looked my way.
There was a wide area near the middle of the station that had been claimed by hawkers and people with wares to sell, but it seemed less populated than I would have anticipated. As I scanned the merchants I realized it made sense, after a fashion. The busiest were the men selling typical supplies you might find at any market anywhere, and the others had odd arrays of contraband items or substances - at least, those they were willing to display. Most people who came here for something specific knew where to find it, and preferred that destination be somewhere a little more private, more likely than not.
As I crossed the area something caught my eye and I changed course, heading for the far wall. The hallways beyond seemed uncharacteristically uniform, with none of the patchwork feel that permeated the rest of the station. I ventured down the hallway, curious at the lack of any traffic through the area. Soon the corridor took a hard turn, and I found myself face to face with an armed man leaning against a sealed door. A rifle dangled from his chest, held in place by a strap that looped over his shoulders, and he raised the weapon enough to to aim its muzzle at my feet, threatening but not overly aggressive, which matched his expression. I noticed a camera nestled against the join of ceiling and wall just above him, but had a hard time focusing on anything but the rifle.
"This area's off limits," he said, straightening off the door and looking me over. "And you're not anyone I recognize. No closer, but you can put your hands down."
My hands had splayed up and aside in surrender without my realizing it. His comment prompted me to slowly drop them to my sides, a sheepish, wryly amused feeling growing in my chest. Clearing my throat, I said,
"Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I've just been exploring, and I didn't know there were off-limits areas. Not ones this easy to get into."
He smiled thinly, but he seemed to have discounted me as a threat already, lowering the rifle and resuming a comfortable lean. He was taller than me by nearly half a foot, broad-shouldered and muscular. Eyes hidden behind a pair of dark shades built into the tan helmet atop his head, he wore a suit of light body armor over his uniform, but an arm band above his left elbow depicted the image of a bird of prey in flight.
"Raptor territory. We've got a few parts of the station closed off to the public, for our use and for high-paying guests. This is the first time on the station and you don't have a friend to give you the lay of the land?" he said.
The question made it sound more embarrassing than it had just minutes ago. Chagrined, I nodded.
He whistled. "People never cease to amaze. Alright, stranger, what brought you here?"
I couldn't see his eyes behind the helmet, but the slight tilt of his head reinforced the feeling of his eyes searching over my figure. Trying to ignore the sensation, I answered,
"I need expertise for a job that I must complete. I was hoping to find that here."
He smiled faintly, saying nothing. I swallowed, and it seemed best to wait. After a short stretch of mutual silence the guard finally said,
"Alright, that's not too unusual." He lifted a hand from the top of his rifle, gesturing at the hallway I had come down. "If you head back out, take the second hallway out of the market on the left. Just head straight down and eventually you'll see signs for a place called the Helldive. Lot of negotiation happens in there. Might do you good."
I let out a grateful sigh, internally repeating the directions to keep them in mind. "Thank you," I said, flashing him a smile. He gave another thin smile in reply, and I turned to leave.
"If you don't have any luck," I heard him call after I had turned the corner, "I'll be heading that way after there's a shift change. I'll keep an eye out for you."
The Helldive was an intimidating place to enter, and once I reached it I found myself hesitating outside for some time. Partly-dried stains covered the floor outside the entrance, looking as though someone had made a halfhearted effort at wiping them away before giving up. As I was first arriving a trio stepped out of the doorway, two men and one women, turning drunkenly to support each other down the hall, and as I lingered and watched other people slipped into the place, alone or in small groups. A cacophony of shouts rose from within, drowning out the strains of music that reached me from the door, but whatever prompted the outbursts settled as quickly as it had broken out. Sucking in a deep breath and trying to reassure myself, I walked through the doorway.
A spicy smell permeated the air within the Helldive. The lights were dim, leaving the booths that lined the wide room dark and secluded. An island bar in the middle of the room was better lit, ringed by patrons on the outside and worked by a pair of quick-moving bartenders within it. Square tables were scattered across the floor all around, most of them occupied. I started toward an empty seat along the bar, wading through the sea of voices, and gritted my teeth. It was difficult to focus on my own goal, to keep from reaching out to take a nearby man's glass and refill it for him, or any of the myriad impulses that came and went in a rush.
