From: jhreiher@happy.colorado.edu (Animal)
Subject: Vince's Starport Bar & Grill: Chapter One
Date: 17 Feb 92 02:58:59 GMT

Here's something I started writing, as part of a game development
project. It may, right now, not seem to be Cyberpunk, with all
the aliens and things, but give it time. It's definitely going
c-punk in it's direction. So keep the flames down to a low
simmer. As always, send your comments, critiques, and kvetches to
me. I always enjoy email!

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Vince's Starport Bar and Grill
Written by John H. Reiher, Jr.
Copyright 1991 by John H. Reiher, Jr.
Use of places, names, and situations from FTL:2448 are used
with permission by Tri Tac  Systms.

Chapter One

     It was 1000 hours on Alverez Station, and Vincent Balibio
took over his bar from Steve, his  evening cycle man. The bar
wasn't very worse for wear from the night cycle crowd. Sleeping
off a  drunk in the corner, were two Bor' Chas, their muzzles
still resting in their beer mugs, snoring  mightily. In the
center of the bar, two star jockeys were doing Vapours and
schmoozing about their  last runs. And, except for the Blox doing
Stare, that was the total population of the bar, minus Steve  and
Vincent.

     "What did you do Steve," asked Vince, "call station patrol,
and run all my patrons off?" Steve smiled, shook his head and
continued stacking glasses behind the bar. "Nope, it's just  been
a slow cycle." he replied, "No ships called to port last night,
except for those two's," indicating  the two star jocks, "and
they've done only five inhalers of Vapours between themselves in
four  hours. A real lively bunch this cycle. Stembeck brought his
own Stare with 'im too. Didn't cha  Stemmy?" The Blox turned five
of its eyes to the pair, and stared unseeing at them. He soon
returned  to his inner vision that Stare creates in its users.
     "Crobec!" swore Vince, "So what didja pull in last cycle, 50
bux?"
     "Barely," he smiled, "K'cha and Ro'ne drank 50 bux all by
themselves." He nodded at the  ursinoids sleeping at corner
table. "Figured they could keep the table, paid rent on it, they
did."  "I'll give them another hour before I boot them out." said
Vince, hoping that K'cha didn't get  upset at being evicted from
his table. He went to cash register, and started counting the
evening  cycle's take. Steve activated the cleanbots, being a
rare quiet hour on the station.

     Like many stations, Alverez Station ran on a twenty-four
hour clock. Ships came and went on  their own time schedules,
some human, some alien. Alverez's location around Fomalhaut IV
made it  third hub of the Earth, Faxn' Chr, Fomalhaut
interstellar trade routes. So shops, restaurants, and  bars, had
to be open 24 hours to cater to the wants and needs of the space
jockeys and tourists that  came to Fomalhaut. Some of these wants
were for a quiet place to get good and sloshed.
     Vince's Starport Bar and Grill was one of those places.
Unfortunately, it was not high on the list  of places to be
visited by upper crust of society. Vince's was a dive, pure and
simple, as Vince  himself would admit. He catered to the less
than honest, but not quite criminal, clientele that inhabited
the station. His was a place where deals that skirted the edge of
legality could be made and broken,  merchandise of questionable
heritage could be bought and sold. A not quite den of inequity.

     Vince finished counting the take, and quipped, "89 bux! Not
bad for just having four paying  customers."
     "Five." stated Steve, as he directed a cleanbot around the
Bor' Cha's feet, "A tourista came  wandering in at 0200, and
wanted sumthin called an 'Olympus Mons'. I told him 'We don't do
foo- foo drinks here bub. Go try the Space Dragon's Den.' He went
and ordered one of our martian ale  imports, uh, Mariner 9."
     "Human?" asked Vince.
     "Looked like one." replied Steve, "He was dressed to the
nines, like some corp exec slumming.  Didn't ask any questions,
looked around checking the place out, drank his Mariner, and
left."
     Vince stood in thought, looking slightly pensive. Steve
herded the cleanbots back into their  slots, picking up the beer
mugs from the Bor' Cha's table. He gave his boss a sideways look,
as the  last of the 'bots plugged themselves in. "Vince?" he
asked.
     "This fellow, what did he look like?" Vince asked quietly.
     Steve regarded his employer carefully. "You OK, Vince?" he
queried.
     Vince took a deep breath, sighed, and, with a rueful smile,
said, "Yeah, it's nothing. Just  thinking dark thoughts. Hmph, it
couldn't be..." He looked back to Steve, who was staring at him
with a worried expression. "Get outta here!" he ordered, "I'm
fine. I'll be OK. Go on home."
     "Otay." Steve warily agreed, "But, you watch yourself. I
don't want to tell Melissa that you'd  gone and got yourself
killed!" He ducked a wadded up napkin that Vince threw at him.
Grabbing his  cap, he saluted his boss and then left the bar.
     Vince watched the doors slide shut. "It couldn't be him."
was all that he said.

     Jackson Potter, Consulting Detective,(CD), threaded his way
through the morning cycle shift-change crowd. Last night was a
busy and profitable one for him. He had gotten a piece of a
Station  Security investigation contract, and helped the
prestigious Bendle Covert Inquiries company solve a  warehouse
theft-ring case. His portion of the contract paid out 2,000 bux.
     Of course, he had to split the fee with his partner, Eric
Heller, the computer genius of the firm  Potter Investigations.
It was Eric's peeking and poking through Kreig Imports and
Exports' datafiles  that led them to the insiders that were
lifting the goods. Last night cycle, he, Jason Kendrick from
Bendle, and four goons from Station Security, set up a sting to
apprehend the perps. He patted his  left pocket, remembering to
pick up some more fiber rounds. He had emptied a clip into a
Tugan  armed with an Atachi 4mm caseless assault rifle. The fiber
rounds barely made it though the thing's  scales. 'Gotta pick up
some more thumpers.' he mentally memoed. He squinted a second and
accessed his biofeedback window interface. He blinked on his
daily reminder, and added 20 rounds  of jacketed DPU to his
growing shopping list. He shut down his BWI, and locked onto
Vince's  Starport Bar and Grill's front entrance on station
corridor A5-342, level 50's thruway.
     Barely clearing the doors as they slid open, Jackson slipped
into the mostly empty bar. "Vince!  An order of two hen fruit,
sunny side up, and porkflesh!" he called out.
     "How about Ecks and Bakon, Jack?" Vince countered.
     "Phood again? When are you going to get some real food?"
     "When I earn my first million. Ecks and Bakon, take it or
leave it."
     "Real eggs are only 20 bux a dozen, and bacon is just 15 bux
a pound. You could afford to  stock up on some for your more
affluent patrons."
     "Like you?"
     "Yes," Jackson flashed his cash card at Vince, "like me."
     Vince let out a low whistle, and asked "You get a steady
contract with the SS?"
     "No, just a piece of one." replied Jackson, "Ecks and Bakon
will be fine."
     Vince grabbed a packet from the bar's refrigerator labeled
'Ecks & Bakon, another fine meal  from Phood, Inc.' "'Just a
piece of one'?"  queried Vince, "Who'd you sublet from?" He tore
the end  off the package, and extracted two small plastic bulbs
and a long package labeled 'Bakon'. "Bendle  Covert Inquiries."
Jackson said smugly, as he watched Vince pop the two bulbs open
and pour their  contents onto the grill, the whites were already
white, the 'yolk' moving straight to center of each Eck.
     "Bendle, hmmm, pretty good." admired Vince, "They gonna give
you an option?" Vince  stripped the Bakon from its shrink wrap,
and laid the identically marbled strips onto the grill. "Naw,
they didn't mention picking up my option," Jackson replied,
"though they did offer Eric a full option  and a junior
partnership. He turned them down. Something about not wanting to
work in a 'six by  six white cubicle, with a pair of 'trodes for
company.'" He smiled wistfully, "I don't know why he  works for
me, he could have the pick of any corp, and could dictate salary
and terms to them. I guess  he likes working for a company where
he can be the number two man."
     "Toast? White, whole wheat, whole gritch, or bran?"
interrupted Vince.
     "Huh? Oh, uh, gritch, whole gritch." replied Jackson. He sat
back in his chair, and looked  around the bar, noting the sparse
population. "Steve scare off your customers last night?" he
asked.
     "No, just a slow cycle." replied Vince, "No new ships came
in, and our regulars don't get paid  till tomorrow. Coffee?" He
flipped the Bakon, while keeping an eye on the toaster.
     "Yeah, black." said Jackson, "Too bad, I'd hope to run into
Winston here. I need to get some  thumpers, and he's got the best
prices."
     "He might be in later." Vince stated, "He had told me that
he had to score a hot deal last night  over in Delta Sector.
Mucho buxs."
     "'Delta Sector'?" asked Jackson, who then let out a guffaw.
     "What's so funny?"
     "Delta Sector was were I was last night. I thought that
corpse looked familiar. Poor Winston, he  should've stayed minor
league." Jackson wiped his eye, as he laughed.
     "Great, low on customers, you hadda go out and kill one of
them." critisized Vince.
     "Not me, heh." he laughed, "A SS goon did him in. Sorry,
Vince, I just realized I could have  looted his corpse for the
DPUs I needed." Vince dumped his breakfast in front of him, the
toast  slightly burned. "'Duh, gee how'd I know he wasn't wearing
any armor?'" mimicked Jackson,  slicing up his Ecks into tiny
pieces, "Forty rounds of poke and pop on an unarmored man. Yuck!"
     Poke and pop rounds were specialized AP rounds used by
Station Security, designed to penetrate  armor and then mushroom
to 4 times its original diameter inside the target's body.
     "Ecch, how can you eat after seeing something like that?"
Vince said with disgust.
     "See it often enough," Jackson swallowed, "and its
nauseating only while you see it. Besides, I  have a strong
constitution." He burped. "So now I need to find another source
of DPUs. You know  anybody as reliable as our late, lamented,
comrade Winston?"
     "Hmm, maybe, did you use a lot last night?" replied Vince.
     Jackson bit off a piece of toast and swallowed it before
replying, "None. Not a one. I used sixty  rounds of fiber
bullets. You'd think I let loose with thumpers with four SS goons
there with me?"
     Fiber bullets were iron filaments epoxied together with a
carbon fiber resin. They wouldn't penetrate  more than a thin
layer of kevlar, but went through skin like needles through
cloth. The round would  then break apart inside the body,
spraying the iron filaments throughout the body. Fiber rounds are
the only legal killing round allowed to private individuals,
since they would not penetrate the station's  hull.
     "Then why do you want DPUs for?" asked Vince, checking the
various pressurized cans of  beer, pop, and soda water that was
under the bar top. He tagged two beer taps as refills.
     "Well," Jackson replied, "after seeing twenty fibers burst
to dust on a Kymnar's battle armor, I  pretty much figured that
if I'm going to play with the big boys, I'd better be armed with
the big boys'  toys." He mopped up the last of his Eck yolk with
a piece of toast. "DPUs in my Wilmoore would  give me an edge
against the armored elements of the criminal world." he said in a
very solemn voice.  "Besides, they make a great whumping sound
when they hit sub-dermal armor!" he gleefully added.
     "Then talk to Bobby Joe Jackhammer," instructed Vince,
referring to a Trell who dealt in  slightly illegal goods, "he
can usually get a hold of anything thats get-a-holdable. He'll be
in later on  tonight at, oh, about 2000 hours. I'll get Joey to
point him out for you."
     "Thanks," said Jackson, "I probably drop in at around 2015,
and check him out." He pushed  his chair away from the bar, and
looked approvingly at Vince, "Damn good breakfast Vince, for
processed soylgea and flavoring." he complemented.
     "The toast was real at least," replied Vince, "you'd have to
admit that." He looked at Jackson  thoughtfully before saying:
"Jack, I need to hire you for a job."
     Jackson looked suprised for a moment, then got very serious.
Vince didn't normally asked  favors of his friends, but when he
did, it was usually extremely important. "Who do I need to kill?"
Jackson asked in all seriousness.
     "Nobody, yet." replied Vince, "But I need you find out if an
old, uh, aquaintence is back on  Alverez."
     "Who is it Vince?"
     "My brother."

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End chapter one.
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--

John H. Reiher Jr.
Internet: JHREIHER@uccs.edu
Bitnet: JHREIHER@COLOSPGS.BITNET
America Online: Dr Destiny, Kedamono
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