[u][b]Chapter 1

Benson - Epsilon Sub Sector, disputed space[/b][/u]



“Where you from, stranger?” asked the barkeep.

“Nowhere in particular,” said Augustine.

“Off worlder, huh?” said the barkeep, “Can tell from the accent. Don’t get too many of you all ‘round here. Don’t get too many of any kind ‘round here though, to be honest. Not much to do ‘cept dig up uranium and hunt clavisaurs. Get eaten by clavisaurs’ also an option I guess.”

The barkeep paused, thinking on something. “I think the sheriff arrested one last night though,” he said, “ ‘nother off worlder I mean. With you?”

“No one’s with me, friend,” said Augustine. He tipped his hat back to reveal a face weathered by the elements but hard to gauge age-wise, “You gonna pour me a drink or what?”

“Sure, sure,” said the barkeep, voice rising, “Just makin’ conversation. Slow here in the morning no one’s back from the mines to do-”

“What’s the strongest thing you got?”

“Uh, nest wine, I guess,” said the barkeep, “Not really wine. Fermented from the fungus found in the nests of-”

“Don’t need the details,” said Augustine, holding up a hand, “I’ll take a double. What kind of coin you take?”

“Imperial or Union- it’s all the same out here,” said the barkeep.

Augustine flipped a crown onto the bar and the barkeep let out a little gasp.

“Keep the fungus stuff flowin’.”

The saloon doors slid open and a lanky, humanoid simulant clanked in, chrome plating patched in places with rust. Its optics whirred and clicked as they adjusted to the gloom of the bar.

“Don’t have nothin’ for your kind,” said the barkeep.

“Ulysses there is with me,” said Augustine, “he’s alright.”

“Thought you said no one was with you.”

“Well I s’pose that’s a philosophical question- is a sim a someone?”

“That which we are, we are,” said Ulysses, its voice a cool flat monotone.

“A what question?” asked the barkeep.

“Pour me a fuckin’ drink, will you?” said Augustine, turning to the sim, “What’ja find?”

The sim clanked over and handed Augustine a small dataslate. He frowned as he read.

“This for real?” he asked. The barkeep slid a glass of something green down the bar. Augustine downed it with a wince and tapped the bar for another.

The sim nodded its scuffed and battered metal head, “Confirmed.”

The barkeep looked suspiciously at his customer and the sim, “What’re you all up to?”

Augustine sipped his drink and smiled, “Ain’t only uranium they’re mining out here, my friend.”