Page 31 of New World

Asta exhaled sharply. “That look on your face is making my trigger finger itch.”

Dorane rolled his shoulders, his smirk returning. “Relax, we have an assassin to greet. You’ll probably get to scratch it before the evening is over if I know Cee.”

She muttered something foul under her breath. Jammer chuckled. With a sigh, Dorane strode forward.

Minutes later, Dorane entered the arched doorway leading into Deek’s. The bar was barely marked, the name half-flickering on an ancient neon sign mounted over the steel-framed doors. It was a low-lit, smoky dive, filled with the scent of cheap liquor, burnt circuits, and poor decisions.

The walls were reinforced metal, patched in places with whatever scrap had been lying around, and the ceilings were strung with dim hanging lamps that flickered whenever the power grid hiccupped—which was often in this section. He made a mental note to speak to mechanical if it wasn’t fixed soon.

Perhaps shooting a few more people into space will make Asta feel better, he mused.

Deek ran a no-nonsense establishment, catering to the clientele who didn’t ask questions and didn’t start fights inside—mostly because Deek himself would break their legs if they did.

The Kerlian was older than the moon base and redder and meaner than the mines he had emerged from. Hell, he had been old when Dorane met him ten years before on Balstin Prime.

Dorane stepped inside, the muffled hum of conversation hitting him first. Patrons hunched over tables, some playing games of holo-dice or battle bots while others watched the holoscreens displaying the latest news of the Legion’s defeat.

Deek is living dangerously, broadcasting the illegal channels.

Not that much was illegal on Cryon II. Still, the few who were loyal to the Legion wouldn’t be happy if they knew their defeat was set on a loop for everyone to see.

Dorane scanned the interior. The bar stretched along the right wall, and behind it stood Deek himself—a thick-set, four-armed Kerlian with red-tinted cybernetic optics. Deek had lost his four arms in a mining explosion. The corporate owners, upset at losing a crew, had ‘gifted’ the cybernetic arms to Deek after he was dragged out almost dead. Deek had used their gift to escape the horrors of the mine and the brutal corporation that had owned it.

The mine was one of the first places Dorane had purchased after hearing what Deek had been through. Now, the corporate owners, those who were still alive, were doing the digging. Dorane lifted a hand in greeting when Deek paused and nodded to him before glancing at a table across from the bar.

Asta and Jammer fell in step behind him.

“Sit at the bar,” Dorane instructed.

Asta grumbled, tail flicking. “One of these days, I’m letting you get shot.”

Jammer chuckled, striding toward the counter with a booming greeting.

“Deek, you magnificent bastard, you still serving that battery acid you call Torrian Viper Piss?”

Deek didn’t even glance up as he slid a glass to another patron. “Yeah, and it’s still too strong for your oversized ass, Jammer.”

Jammer just laughed.

Dorane didn’t stop at the bar. He strode toward the back booth, where Cee 585 was waiting.

Cee sat at the far end of the booth, leaning back with casual ease, her cybernetic fingers idly tapping the table in an impatient rhythm. There was a wall behind her, as well as a corridor that led to the bathrooms and an exit.

Her right eye gleamed an unnatural electric blue, the left one dark and calculating. The side of her face was more machine than flesh, sleek plating running from her temple down to her jaw.

The last time Dorane had seen her, she’d been less metal and more normal-looking… if you could call the patchwork of red, blue, and green molted spots and leathery skin normal.

Asta really must think I have terrible taste if she believes I would ever sleep with someone like Cee, he thought with distaste.

He walked along the narrow path between the bar and tables and slid into the seat across from her, eyeing the robotic server as it placed a glass of amber liquid in front of him.

He lifted it in a toast and shot Cee a deceptive smile of greeting that didn’t reach his eyes. “At the rate you’re going, Cee, you could get a job serving drinks here.”

Cee didn’t smile. “I see you are entertaining as always, Dorane.”

Dorane took a slow sip, then motioned toward her. “That’s a lot of shiny new parts. Did you have another accident, or are you just trying out a new look?”

Cee’s fingers tightened slightly on the table.

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