Nova Flare (slow updates)

Chapter 1: A Fresh Perspective

Ben Talbott frowned as he looked at the front of the battered warehouse.  

With a roof covering nearly a square kilometre in size and a good 100 metres tall, it was a massive box of bent metal and broken glass, barely standing against the pull of gravity, albeit weak on this class 5 asteroid.  It looked like a good asteroid quake, hell, even a push from his own hand, could bring it down on top of him if he wasn't careful.  But one of the things Ben learned when he became a smuggler was that appearances can be deceiving.  

Trusting his instincts, he scoped out the factory nearly a month ago, when his perspective clients first messaged him with the location.  A quick reconnoitre yielded the bowed walls and sagging roof would stand not only gravity, but a direct strike from a thanatos-class first strike missile.

He grinned tightly as he squared his shoulders and settled the blaster in its holster under his left arm.  This quick scan told him the factory hadn't deteriorated since then and so still presented a relatively safe location for the meet.  On the reverse, however, such sturdy construction could make shooting his way clear if things furballed a little difficult.  'Always something to sour the ale.'  He mused darkly, the grin never wavering.  Still, the projected profit margin was more than enough to compensate for the risk.  And having a heavy blaster, with enough punch power to penetrate most personal armor and body shields on the market, black or otherwise, didn't hurt.

Settling that blaster yet again to a more accessible position under his arm, he began to stride towards the front doors, a set of battered portals hanging by scraps to their rusted hinges.  Those hinges quietly complained as he pushed the doors open to step into the dim, musty-smelling interior.  Waiting only long enough for his eyes to adjust from the artificial light outside to the shadow-filled space beneath the great, sagging roof, Ben began to step briskly across the cracked plasticrete floor towards a dancing light some distance away.  According to the directions the clients sent, the meet was in a small maintenance chamber roughly in the middle of the space, far from prying eyes and spy tech capability.  Hopefully that dancing light marked the chamber.

His pace quick but not hurried, it didn't take him long to cover the intervening distance, the light resolving into a marker light tagging a heavy multi-sided column that extended floor to ceiling.  In the side facing him, Ben saw a door, the writing on it slowly coming clear to read 'Maintenance'.  Ah, the meeting site, as isolated as he suspected.  After a quick pause at the door to take a final glance around at the dim surrounding space, he palmed the door's access pad and slipped into the space yielded when the heavy panel slid aside.

No less than five heads came up at the door's opening, several sets of eyes narrowing as they caught sight of Ben slipping inside.  What they saw was a human male of indeterminate age, just over 2 metres tall, perhaps 100, 110 kilos, sandy brown hair cut short, handsome yet hard features and sharp green eyes.  Dressed in loose-fitting, bulky clothing favored by most humans on the outer rim, he looked like any other human male walking the dusty streets of the asteroid mining and industrial complex the factory was a part of, right down to the tell-tale bulge of a blaster under his left arm.

"Benjamin Talbott?" a hoarse voice asked in accented Common tongue, the galaxy's universal trading language.  As versed in Common as he was in Trangelo, the human language, Ben nodded curtly from where he had come to a halt a step into the chamber inside the column, the door hissing closed behind him.

Almost immediately the warm touch of a scanner washed over him, its aiming beam coming from the shadowy figure on the far left of the tight group of half hidden individuals now facing him.  Ben fought the impulse to tense, and reach for his weapon.  Drawing it with all attention on him would only invite ventilation and he'd gone too long without a big score to turn away from this one, if the numbers they sent him meant anything.  So he kept his hands calmly at his side and gazed with as much unconcern into their shadow-hidden faces as he could muster.