Hacienda Estrella
Safe Dock Bar
They all laughed at the Grimshaws when they come in to the Hacienda, swearing ’til they was blue that Ghost Station was in normal space.
Wasn’t none laughed louder than Norse, though he stood the pilot a beer, on account of she was a friend and not nearly a fool, and sat with her while she worked her way through a plate of the house special curry, which he also put on his tab, and the beer that came after that, too.
“So,” he said, sipping his first beer.
Pama gave him a stare could score hullplate.
“So, what?”
Norse held up a hand, showing empty palm.
“Ghost Station. You ’n me both know it comes, then it goes.” He tipped his mug in the general direction of her captain, who was still arguing with Ferb Connor offa Harp.
“Figured your cap’n to know that, too,” Norse said. “She’s older’n six.”
“So’re you,” Pama said, “but you ain’t listenin’.”
That stung, that did. Norse prided himself on being a good listener. He put his mug down, and considered her.
“How’s this, then,” he said. “I’ll buy us another round, you tell me, and I’ll listen straight through.”
She shrugged.
“’Nother beer’s fine,” she said. “But you laugh at me, Norse Uldra-Joenz, and I’ll punch you right on that pointy nose o’yours.”
“Fair,” Norse said, and put his hand up for two more beers.
“So, yeah, Ghost Station—it’s there and then it ain’t, and mostly it ain’t,” Pama said after she’d tasted her new brew for quality. “Even when it’s not there, though, there’s all that grit and glittery dust and clouds—right?”
“Right.”
“So, that’s gone—that’s what we’re trying to say—Ghost Station’s in normal space.”
All right, that was innerestin’, Norse thought. All the spacers who came in reg’lar to Edmonton Beacon, ’specially those who had ties with the Carresens-Denoblis, and belonged to the Hacienda Estrella coop, knew about Ghost Station. Knew to avoid it, that was. They did keep a casual kinda eye on it, same like they did with the Dust front, and on Keeryelli—just in case. But nobody went to Ghost Station, nobody being willing to risk getting caught on or near it when it phased out to…
Wherever it went.
“Wonder what changed,” Norse muttered, half to himself, and Pama gave him a grin.
“Now you’re thinkin’. What changed, and what’s it mean, too?”
They finished their beers in a thinking quiet. Norse was just about to call for another when the all-band crackled, and a man’s tired, colorless voice claimed the whole bar’s attention.
“This is Matt Collier on Borinteen. Had some bad luck ’long Dust-edge near Pendi. Need a tow. Need repairs. Most of all we need a medic. Molly got burned when second board blew. Vester’s got an arm broke, or worse—”
There was a mutter in the background, like somebody giving direction, while the bar was that quiet, everybody froze in place, straining to hear.
“Got a few complaints, myself—leg caught something that wasn’t tied down,” Matt Collier said, sounding wry and faint.
“Come get us, Hacienda, ’fore we’re a hazard to navigation.”
Chairs scraped, and voices rose, as them who belonged to Hacienda Rescue got themselves up and out.
Norse ran to the bar, and grabbed his medkit.
“I’m gone,” he told Zeri, who was tending.
“I’ll tell the boss,” she said. “Jet!”
Kit in hand, he did just that.