Awakening

Chapter 10 - The Hub (2/5)

"The hub..." he had said, voice trembling from the continuous punishment of the Tormentor. His implication was binary--The miner's-hub. There was no doubt, though his puny body gave out not one moment after the combination of these two words left his reeking mouth, Inquisitor Falco was experienced enough with the filthy miners to understand which hub he was referring to.

It was obvious. Well. Right after she had discovered it. The most logical place to conduct the acts of treason against the same corporation which provided them with oxygen, water and food was just under their noses--mere kilometers from the Security-HQ of Asheera.

Negligence, she thought, and immediately grasped these thoughts were now irrelevant in her current situation.

Demia raised her head from the now empty glass of Bev. "More," she said, impeccably imitating the Martian accent.

"Ey gal, Ar'ya good for?" the bartender, one called Fenus, if memory served her right, said.

As a reply, she just stretched her left arm, the PeP arm, and swiped it on the counter's checker. It beeped and she stabbed Fenus with an emotionless stare. "Watch'a think?"

Drinking wasn't prohibited on duty--on the contrary, it was part of her mingling. She had to paint herself as an ambient face in the dull scenery of this forsaken bar. She had to, if she wanted to catch a glimpse--and maybe part of the words--of the rebel rats. Still, she had to maintain her wits sharp and ready. Having the implant was going to do her a good service, but it had its limits.

She sniffed her glass, almost wrinkling her nose as the harsh aroma crawled up her nostrils. Why--was the only question echoing in her head. Why do the miners drink this glass of raw piss?

The past few weeks she had interrogated few rats who were caught stealing Arbium and some metals from the mines--on duty nonetheless. These were minor offenses, since the miners got paid by the quota and the amount stolen was usually mere crumbs. But, still, something bugged her deeply. It was an unanswered question, which, unfortunately, had only one logical answer.

Why stow the damn metals away?

She downed the Bev in one-shot and threw a weary glance around.

The hub was a passable pub. Nearly all the tables and couches around were taken by smiling Martians with Bev and food in front of them. The dim crimson lighting painted the entire place like Mars itself, as if it was a patriotic symbol. Waitresses rolled around the premises on gyro-wheelers, holding their magneto-trays and serving the populous. For most, being served by a human was rare, since it was cheaper to hire a simplistic serving-bot. But Demia was used to the sight--Venusians preferred the human servitude of emotion.

Thousands of them, she thought, and only one holds my salvation.

There was no deal. There was no random Walker popping in the hub and surrendering himself to the Hive, and Demia's nerves had reached their limits.

She pushed herself from the bar and stretched her legs as she stood.

Filthy liar. You were the first one to...