Sure enough, the place was packed with folk in exoskeletons, spacesuits, EVA suits for spacecraft repairs, thick armour with temperature-regulating tubing for extended journeys where crews wore their gear for months at a time. Glyphs and jargon indicated crews and syndicates who travelled together across the far regions of deepspace, operating independently. There was an entire network of them out there among the moonbases and habitats and stations, where the law was more fluid. I recognised one from Darkstar: a ragtag, multispecies, interstellar crew that explored the greater galaxy, performing odd jobs no one else wanted to touch. Last I’d heard, most of those jobs weren’t legal, but I’m in no position to judge.
We made our way to the very back. An armoured Torven slid out of the booth, leaving it free for me to slide into the seat the alien had just occupied. It was the only available space. Perfect. I needed room, but I also needed to be around people tonight. Needed the atmosphere to swallow me up and drown out the past few days.
I sprawled across the wooden table that showed years of alcoholic spills, and watched the blue-white planet slowly turn beneath us as Grim went to get drinks. I was no stranger to places like this. On New Vladi, I’d go with Artyom and our friends to similar little bars sandwiched between buildings and in basements. Niches in the city. We’d sit there, letting the conversation and music wash over us as we drank. As if the bars could hold off the darkness outside. But the flexiscreen was always on, and we couldn’t ignore the reports of Harvest carving their way across deepspace, more and more worlds going dark.
I sat up and wiped my nose. Glanced up at the dark canvas of space through the domed viewport. There were promontories of ochre and crimson powder, billowing backdrops of green and violet, like pastel oil colours smeared across light years. Through them, a myriad of pulsing stars glistened. It was an overwhelming abundance of richness, a galactic tapestry. I felt light-headed, as if the world could tilt sideways and I’d fall into the infinite ocean of stars swirling above me. I shook my head, grounded myself in my body and focused on the bar around me. Glasses of vodka, liqueurs and whiskeys sliding across bar-tops made from obsidian, the chink of bottles knocking together. Limes and olives dropping into planetary-themed cocktails. People cracked crude jokes, made advances, boasted about surviving combat encounters with hostile aliens in deepspace. Glyphs shone on armoured knuckles and nebula patterns swirled down chestplates. I drank it all in, savouring the press of people while deciphering the wide-ranging accents and dialects that stemmed from all over the Common.
They really weren’t kidding when they said that Compass was the capital of space, and just being here made me want to get out there and explore the universe. Apparently, an ocean planet called Kholan had built an entire metropolis deep under the sea. I’d go there and further: as far away from cults and drug markets and war as I possibly could. Though a glance at the tangle of blue in my arms reminded me it was pretty hard to escape something fused to your blood cells on a molecular level. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t ignore it for one night.
‘Here we go.’ The table jolted as Grim returned with two towering glasses brimming with a bubbly sunset-coloured liquid. ‘Get that in you.’
‘What is it?’
‘Dunno. Bartender said it’s an offworld brew. A real hit on space stations, apparently.’
‘So you don’t know what it is?’
‘Only one way to find out.’
I drank. It had a strong, fruity flavour and a spicy aftertaste that crackled down my throat and buzzed vibrantly in the back of my skull. We grinned at each other and ordered the next round, and another after that, the stormtech burning off the alcohol.
The next beer was a reddish, copper colour and had to be drunk from the bottle or it’d go sour. Two more of those and we were both starting to crave a nibble or two. We picked another lounge at random: a seaside-style bar decorated with carpets stained with crustacean ink, terrariums filled with sea shells and sand, dangling windchimes and white timber flooring deliberately ridged and roughed to appear as if belonging to some beach villa resort. We moved past a soiree of party-goers to an alcove in the corner of the room, where a table was already filled with complimentary offerings of soft bread, oils and balsamic sauces, chunky salt and pepper. I’d eaten half of it by the time Grim returned with a food called pizza I’d never had before, and more beer. Black in colour, tasted like liquorice and roasted nuts.
‘Isn’t this food a bit … cheesy?’ I told Grim as I chewed through the pizza.
‘Don’t look a free horse in the mouth, Vak.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind. Just eat.’
I did. When we’d finished, I discovered we were dining in one of Compass’ most prestigious gin bars. I meant to put that to the test, ordering two gin and tonics, mixed with Cointreau and Curaçao, blue as my own stormtech. As with every time I went drinking with Grim, it didn’t end at one round, and we were quickly onto our third. Grim swore he’d keep pace with me to the tenth, not counting the beer we’d had in the previous bar. He was tipsy by the fifth. By the eighth, he was passed out, stone-cold drunk, snoring loud enough to turn heads. I smirked, knowing I’d have to get him home.
I spooned the blueberries
