“Your crew boss says anything to you, you tell him I knew a guy once, used to work maintenance on L5Beta. He knew a seal was fucked but waited for a Company work order before he’d fix it. Six people died.”
“You knew a guy?”
Able shrugged. “Haven’t you heard? I know a lot of guys.”
“Yeah, but…”
The uninjured woman raised her hand. “What’s in it for us?”
“Repairs go on your tab. You drink free until it’s cleared.”
“You do know that the Company expects you to make a profit here, right?”
“Vid’s fixed, people are happy and stay longer, they drink more, the bar profits. Excuse me.” She slid the empties back on the table, took a long step to the right, pivoted on one heel and slammed the edge of the tray down on a fitter’s wrist. He howled and dropped back into his seat.
“I was way over there and I distinctly heard her tell you to keep your hands to yourself. You want to grope my servers, you make damned sure they’re into it first or you find someplace else to drink.”
“There is no place else to fuckin’ drink!”
“So if you’re going to keep drinking here, what are you going to do?” She met his glare with a steady gaze and waited.
And kept waiting.
Slowly, the room fell silent.
Able kept waiting.
He rubbed his wrist and sighed. “I’m gonna keep my hands to myself.”
“Unless?”
“Unless the person I’m gropin’s okay with it?”
Able smiled. “Spike, give him his drink.”
The large vid was showing zero G lacrosse from one of the L5s, the small vid behind the bar ran the station’s news channel.
“Why the fuck is that on?” The rigger slid forward on his barstool and squinted at the screen. “News is all bad.”
“Eighty percent bad.”
“Bad enough.”
“I like to know when it’s getting better.”
“Yeah? Well, what I’d like to know is where you get off tellin’ us how to fuckin’ behave.”
Able wiped up a spill and pushed the basket of garlic-seasoned protein strips down the bar, closer to the rigger’s reaching hand. “I don’t. I tell you what I won’t put up with. You choose how to behave.”
“No choices on a Company station, you should know that.”
“There’s choices in here.”
He chewed, swallowed, and finished his beer. “What; you not gonna tell me that you knew a guy once who had no choices?”
“I knew lots of guys like that.”
“Yeah.” He tapped for a refill. “What happened to them?”
“That depended on the choices they made.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
She threw her rag in the sink and held out a hand. “Able Harris. I’m the bartender.”
“Took you three freakin’ weeks to make a profit. Able.”
“Took you three weeks to fix that short ship, Quartermaster.”
“I got busy. Freakin’ sue me.” She slid onto a barstool. “Jesus, you got coffee running. Let me have a mug. Too damned early for booze. You know, I don’t think Webster even knew what that pot was for.”
“Webster’s dead.”
The quartermaster started as half a dozen voices chorused, “Bob didn’t do it!”
“What the hell was that?” she demanded as Able snickered.
“Private joke.” The mug hit the bar along with two packets of creamer and three of sugar. “So, I make the news at about sixty-forty.”
“Yeah, things are looking up. What happened over there?”
Over there was a stack of chairs waiting repair and a table that had moved significantly past broken and into scrap.
“Oh, one of the riggers told the ‘two fitters in a suction pipe joke.’”
“Shit. What did you do?”
“Cleaned up afterward. I like to make stupidity its own reward.”
“Able, you better get out here.”
She rubbed a hand through her hair so that it stuck straight up in pale gray spikes. “Shift just started, what’s wrong?”
“There’s a table of supervisors out there.”
“I knew a guy once, insisted on hanging out with the guys he supervised.”
“What happened to him?”
Able finished entering the top shelf and handed Toby her data pad. “Let’s just say hanging out became the definitive phrase.”
There were five of them at one of the big round tables; two women, three men. The tables around them were empty. In the booths and at the bar, the regulars sat scowling over their drinks.
Able walked over, drying her hands on her apron. “Evening. Don’t you lot usually drink in lower amid?”
“We’ve been hearing good things about this place.” He folded his arms and managed to simultaneously look up at her and stare down his nose. “Thought we’d check it out.”
One of the women smiled, showing recently repaired teeth. “Downside drudge like you ought to be happy we’re here. Might get the Company to put you someplace a little… better.”
“Better?”
“Than this… hole.”
Able reached out and touched her chip to the table’s scanner, then transferred the screen to the big vid. “I’m an independent contractor. I’m here because I want to be. You want to be here, that’s fine. You’re trying to make a point—make it somewhere else.”
“The Company…”
“Doesn’t care how I do it as long as this bar makes a profit Now, what can I get you?”
“How about a little respect?” His lip curled.
“I knew a guy once, wanted respect he hadn’t earned.”
The regulars sat up a little straighter.
“What happened to him, Able?” a senior fitter called.
Able’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know him long.”
They didn’t stay long.
Beckoning Bob forward to clean off the table, she started back for the stockroom.
He caught at her arm as she passed. “Able?”
When she turned, every eye in the house was on her.
“You chose to be here?”
“I did.”
“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”
“Hole’s a downside bar, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…”
“I’m a bartender.” She swept an exasperated gaze around the room. “Not a hard concept, people. Bar. Bartender. Sorge, I just got that god-damned pool table. Get your beer off the felt or it’ll be the last beer you have that Bob hasn’t pissed in.”
“More good news than bad these days.”
“You want bad news, I’ll give you bad news.” The rigger downed his shot, and slapped the bar for another one. “Fuckin’ storms on Jupiter’s flinging the lines around. We lock it down, we risk losing the gas pocket. We let it ran, we got no control and we risk losing the whole fuckin’ line.”
“Does sound bad.”
“Yeah. I don’t suppose you knew a guy once who solved the problem?”
“Nope.” Able polished another length of the bar, cloth moving in long, smooth sweeps. “But I expect to.”
“You expect… Oh.” Frowning thoughtfully he tossed back his shot. He was still looking thoughtful nearly half an hour later as he headed out the hatch.
Able polished her way down the bar—not so much because it needed it but because it was one of the things a good bartender did—and when she came back she smiled at the man sitting in the rigger’s place. “Dr. Porter.”
“It’s a small station in a big universe, Able. How’ve you been?”
“Good. What can I get you?”
“Coffee’s fine.”
She set the mug down, studied him for a moment, then slid over two sugars. No creamer.
“Nice trick.” He stirred them in, his spoon chiming against the heavy porcelain sides of the mug. “You know that problem the Company brought me on board for? Seems to be solved.”