The bar was relatively empty; the few patrons - mostly male - sat huddled at one end of the room around a roaring fire. It was a modest affair; a simple pre-fabricated shell, filled with benches and tables of cheap plastic, and a steel counter. In some ways it was more reminiscent of an army mess hall than a place of entertainment and alcohol. The men sitting at the fire seemed to be grumpily content with their lot, and other than their small noises, the popping of logs on fire and the beating of snow against the plexiglass window, the room was silent.


Behind the counter, the landlord stood cursing the quiet and the weather, wishing the woman sat nursing her drink at the opposite end of the counter would order another. To him, she seemed like a woman of means, someone who could order several rounds rather than just sticking to those few dregs she had left. The landlord placed down the glass he was cleaning, and picked up another, his attention on the first woman to grace his bar in many months.


Her head was bowed, gaze intent on the cup in her hands. She seemed young to the landlord, maybe in her twenties. Her pale face, made alabaster in the wane light of day, made the landlord think she was more use to the glare of artificial lights. In elder times it would have marked her out as someone of learning, but now the landlord guessed she's a spacefarer of some kind. Other than her nimble fingers ever turning the glass in apparent practised ease, it was difficult to tell much else about her. The woman's form was short, curvaceous, but most of the details lay hidden under a heavy black coat.


Tired of waiting, the landlord approached.

"Ms Rackell?" She glanced up in surprise.

"What is it?" The woman's voice was low and even, sexily coarse.

"Would you like another?" The landlord flicked his eyes to her glass, and back again. The woman noticed his subtle gesture, her own eyes flicked to the watch on her wrist. She sighed and glanced over her shoulder at the door.

"Hum" She paused, glancing at her glass. "Yeah, go on then. Sure." The woman flicked back her coat and reached into a pocket for more coins. For an instant a shapely thigh and a semi-automatic pistol were revealed before the coat fell back into place. Rackell placed the coins on the counter as the landlord poured another drink.


Suddenly, the door swung open letting in a gust of ice cold air. All eyes in the bar turned to glare at whomever dared let the precious heat escape. As suddenly as it opened the newcomer pushed the door shut. The men huddled by the fire turned back to mutter amongst themselves, as the man shook snow out of his hair and approached the bar.


The landlord smiled as the newcomer, his coat unbuttoned to reveal a rough work shirt and trousers, and bulging muscles, leant on the counter next to Rackell.

“Good afternoon Sir. What can I get you?” the landlord asked.

“I'll have whatever she's having,” the man said dismissively. The landlord nodded and walked away to fetch a new glass.

“So. What's the word Gurn?” she asked him.

“Not good,” he replied. "Control tower is saying the blizzard is too bad to allow extra vehicular movement. All vessels are grounded until further notice."

"Pshaw," Ms Rackell said. "We've flown through worse." The man, Gurn, sighed.

"I suppose, Asuka, you're referring to our unfortunate jaunt to Venus earlier this year. The one in which I got a light case of radiation poisoning and the Narin suffered so much damage we barely managed to brake even." The woman flushed.

"Maybe," she replied haughtily, and went quiet as the landlord returned with Gurn's drink. Once the landlord had collected his payment and walked away, she resumed the conversation. "So, what's our next move?" she asked.

"There's not much we can do," said Gurn. "We may as well head back to the ship and wait this whole fiasco out." Asuka nodded her agreement and the two of them swiftly downed their drinks.

"Thanks for the drinks. Nice place you got here," Asuka called back to the landlord. He watched them leave, confusion on his face. How any one could consider this snowy cold moon nice was beyond him. He shrugged then, retrieving their discarded glasses. He supposed she was no odder than some he'd met. The men at the fire glared again, as the pair slipped out the door, lest either one entertain the notion of leaving the door open longer than was necessary.

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