A Break in the Sunlight

2. Attavita Station

Attavita Station had started life as a galactic observatory.

That's what the placard in the hallway said. It was laser etched below an older chipped metal plate with a logo and some unfamiliar words: "agenzia spaziole italiana" and then "Frontiere astronomiche avanzanti e progettare la galassia"

Jaren's chromed fingernails skimmed over the plate while she waited for Kaski. Someone had sprayed a symbol over the top, in day-glo orange liqui-chok. The lights were pretty dim in here, with walls painted black, but she could just make out the etched letters underneath.

It was Italian, or something close. It was a pretty old version, if it was—–original Terran maybe. Her mother had been married to a Cialan-Italian years ago. Benito hadn't been a bad sort. A good-looking young model from her mother's EU publicity company. Unlike most of Ellie's husbands, he'd actually taken an interest in his wife's young daughter. He'd taught her to play bocce ball and to garden vegetables. His English wasn't good, but Jaren had a quick ear, and before long the two were conversing fluently in his language, a fact which had mostly pissed her mother off.

As it had turned out, young girls were more to Benito's taste all around. One day Ellie caught him in the conservatory with his hand wandering up Jaren's little school uniform, and that had been the end of the language lessons. A mystified Jaren was sent to a shrink for six months, and Benito was out on his ass. The latest exile from the Ivory Palace.

Jaren actually remembered enough to make out the gist of the words on the plate. Some necrotic crap about astronomical frontiers and charting the galaxy. Had anyone ever seriously bought into that kind of line? Someone must've. Space stations hadn't been cheap when Attavita had been built.

Of course, Attavita didn't look much like an observatory anymore. Not the antique kind, anyhow. Jaren leaned back against the graffiti-covered wall, feeling the thumping of the dance music vibrate through her shoulder blades. Light balls swiveled down through the rooms, leaving traces of color behind them as they tracked. Rolling sideways, she pounded the back of a heavy boot against the restroom door.

"Hurry up, Kaski! Jesus. How long does it take?"

There was muffled shouting back through the door and a few seconds later it was opened by a stringy haired young man in a zipsuit. He had a black raven mask tattooed around his eyes. Jaren bared her teeth at him.

"You have crazy bitch friends, Kaski," he muttered back into the room, reaching into a pocket of the zipsuit.

"Then it's a good thing you don't screw me for my friends, Degan." A caramel-skinned young woman appeared in the doorway. She had braided bangs and a nose ring, and was zipping up her pink vinyl dress. Her face was exquisite. "A hundred creds. Cash on delivery."

Stringy-Hair handed her a cashcard, casting another hostile look in Jaren's direction. "I should get a discount, with all that banging."

"I thought the banging was what you paid for?" Jaren said nastily. Stringy-Hair waved a dismissive hand in her direction, and wandered down the hall from whence the music pulsed.

Jaren leaned back against the wall, frowning as she watched Kaski put herself back in order.

"I still don't know why you screw those flatliners."

"The ultimate reason, Babydoll." Kaski held up the cashcard and pulled her cred-scanner out of her purse.. "Creds."

Her smooth brown shoulder shrugged in the swirling half-light as she scanned the cash and threw the dead card to the floor. "And cause I'm good at it," she smiled. "You've got to practice to stay good."

"But you don't need to. I told you we have plenty of money. My mother gave–"

Kaski interrupted her, her soft accent growing crisp and eyes narrowing. "You. You got plenty of money. Kaski got this." She squeezed one of her tits in Jaren's direction.

"It is too dangerous. How did you know he-" Jaren shrugged in the direction Stringy-Hair had gone, "wasn't a jumper or something?"

"I can take care of myself." Seemingly from the air, Kaski produced a small, but unpleasant-looking blade. A man who'd been leaning on the vending machine nearby decided it would be a good time to make himself scarce.

Jaren sucked in a cheek. "Alright, whatever. Do whatever you want. Screw the whole club and get yourself killed. Just don't do it on my time. And put that thing away. You'll get us thrown out."

"Thrown from this place?" Kaski's nostrils flared in a snort, but the blade disappeared.

There was a little punk coming their way, checking out Jaren. His eyes flitted from her fine-boned face to where her breasts were rounded under a tight denim jacket that had been loose a few months ago. She snarled at him and he passed by.

Kaski laughed, a bright smile breaking across her face, and the broad nose crinkling above the silver ring. "You see? You could make good cashcreds too, Babydoll. We go into business together."

"We're already *in* business together, Kaski. And we stand to do a lot more than make a 100 creds."

"Oh, aye." The older girl put a hand on Jaren's shoulder, "Alright. But if we're gonna be partners you have to lay off my ass. You understand?"

"Fine. If you lay off the tricks until we get to Sona."

Kaski hesitated for a moment, and then nodded her head. "Okay."

Jaren let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I need you in one piece to pilot Indigo. There's no way I can make it to the City without you."

"No worries," Kaski smiled again, turning her hands palm outward, displaying the silver jacks punched into each wrist. The pattern etched in them matched the nose ring. "No worries. Just leave the driving to me."

She put her arm around Jaren again and squeezed her waist. "Now, Babydoll. Let's go dance."