The Unexpected Guest - Part 5 (extended edition)
Because we are so excited about the upcoming launch date, we thought we would celebrate the excitement by a double dose of Allen's gripping story 'The Unexpected Guest'. Enjoy!
Hoopy’s Bar in Quator Station is never crowded. A crowd would have bring with it a noisy atmosphere, the kind of general talking noise you get in a social space. People choosing to be there, to talk, relax and unwind.
Maybe Hoopy’s was like that many years ago. Apparently this place was a franchise, built up by a casino owner from Lave. The flashing neon sign suggests their might have been fun to be had, back in the day. But whatever good times there were are long gone.
Now there’s just dust, the smell of engine oil and clusters of dirty techs huddled in corners. In one corner there’s a dirty tarp hiding some antique electronics booth. Behind the bar, amidst the dirty glasses and bottles are two string thin men with matching beards, both in filthy work suits, taking it in turns to eye up customers with the same empty stare.
There’s a hum too. The sound of a half-dead generator being tortured to keep this place alive.
Quator colony is a shithole. Quator Station is a dive. Hoopy’s is a ruin.
I live here.
There’s a rind on the edge of my glass, ingrained filth, the kind you scrape off with a cutter. The dark brown liquid says it’s a mega gin. Its lying. The half measure in my gut screams the truth under torture. Some sort of illegal moonshine cooked up by the owners, no doubt.
I’m tired. Exhausted. The world gets an edge to it when I get like this. Some things matter more, other things get forgotten.
The empty chair at my table scrapes on the floor. I look up. There’s a dark-haired woman sitting down. She’s wearing station security fatigues and a smile or a grimace. I can’t tell which.
“Saul.”
“Lyssa. What brings you out here?”
“You.”
“Oh.”
Brown hands reach for my glass. Lyssa picks it up, examines it. “Why do you waste your money on this?” she says.
“The Jacksons insist all their lodgers stop by for a glass or two,” I say. “If I want to keep my cell, I gotta drink their brew.”
She scowls and the half smile fades. Her dark eyes hold onto mine. “I could arrest them for making this. I bet it violates regulations.”
“Probably on several counts.”
“True.”
I sit back. “Did you come here to discuss the menu?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You to back off.” She puts the glass down and leans over the table. “Roberts told me you were asking questions about the Jameson.”
I shake my head. “I was shooting the breeze at Roberts, nothing more. He made it clear he wants no chasing.”
“It’s what we all want.”
“Okay.”
There’s a shift of things and I look up. Five people are walking in. They look clean, marking them out as strangers. “Those your people?” I ask Lyssa, nodding towards them.
“That’s the investigation team, yes.”
“Leave it to them, right?”
“Yeah.”
She gets up and goes over to them. A heavy set man smiles, says her name and start talking. I can’t hear what’s said over the hum, but it’s a detailed conversation and I’ve clearly been forgotten.
I pick up the gin glass, tip it back and try not to taste anything as it goes down. Requisite drink done. Now I can go to bed.
I get up and leave.
