Gigs and Mates

  The Martian sky was painted in its usual red hues, streaked with faint traces of blue from the distant planet’s thin atmosphere. High above, starships climbed toward the heavens, leaving trails like chalk marks across the tinted expanse. Others descended, their massive forms shimmering in the sunlight, creating fleeting shadows over Alba City.

  Being so close to the Space Elevator aka Mars’s "Gateway to Space". Alba City was always alive with activity. Ships from Earth came and went, bringing goods, supplies, and sometimes trouble. Today, one such ship had arrived, carrying a large batch of fertilizer destined for the agricultural farms outside the city.

  Roy had taken the gig when he heard they were short a driver. He wasn’t thrilled about hauling crates of manure across Mars, but it paid decently, and jobs like this helped him stay under the radar. He drove to the landing site, parking the truck just outside the designated loading zone. Then, he waited.

  And waited.

  By the third hour, Roy was sitting on the hood of the truck, his jacket tugged tight against the occasional gusts of Martian wind. The workers bustled around him, exoskeletons humming as they loaded crate after crate of fertilizer onto the trucks.

  A middle-aged worker with a graying beard and a sweat-streaked face caught Roy’s eye, laughing as he wiped his brow. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

  Roy blinked, then shrugged. “I guess it’s obvious?”

  “Too obvious,” the man said, leaning on a crate. “You’ve got that look — like you’re about to ask why we don’t have machines doing all this so you can fuck off faster.”

  Roy smirked. “It crossed my mind. You know, a hundred million miles from Earth, and it’s still people manually hauling crates. Kinda funny when you think about it.”

  The worker’s laugh was loud and genuine. “Yeah, you’d think we’d have robots for all this by now, huh? But trust me, man, don’t let anyone hear you say that. Kinda sensitive about that shit.”

  “Why not?” Roy asked, feigning curiosity.

  “Because,” the worker said, his tone turning conspiratorial, “if the bosses even think we’re replaceable, half of us will be out of a job before you can say ‘automation.’”

  Roy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  The worker grinned, slapping the side of the crate he was leaning on. “Smart man. You stick around here long enough, you’ll figure out how things work. Mars isn’t as different from Earth as people like to think. Same shit, just different planet.”

  Roy chuckled, shaking his head as he climbed back into the truck. “Thanks for the advice.”

  The worker gave him a wave before turning back to the crates.

  The truck rumbled as Roy pulled out of the loading zone, joining the line of vehicles snaking their way back toward Alba City. Some trucks broke off toward smaller farms on the outskirts, while others, like Roy’s, made the long haul to the Kennedy Farm — one of the largest agricultural operations near Alba.

  The drive took two hours, the sprawling cityscape gradually giving way to endless stretches of Martian farmland. The soil was dotted with hydroponic greenhouses, their domed structures shimmering under the sunlight. As Roy approached the Kennedy Farm’s entrance, he was greeted by a swarm of drones. The sleek machines circled the truck, their scanners emitting faint hums as they analyzed the cargo.

  “Great,” Roy muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel tightly.

  Moments later, a convoy of armed escorts appeared, flanking the truck on either side. The vehicles bore the unmistakable markings of Earth’s influence. The Stars and Stripes painted alongside the Martian flag. The sight of heavily armed guards made Roy’s stomach churn.

  “This better be standard procedure,” he mumbled to himself as he followed the convoy toward the farm’s central loading area.

  When he finally parked, Roy climbed out of the truck, tablet in hand. The farm manager was already waiting, flanked by a group of men carrying some good ol’ AR rifles. Their sharp eyes studied him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

  “You’re not our usual truck driver,” the manager said, his voice tinged with skepticism.

  Roy handed over the tablet and stylus. “Yeah, I’m filling in,” he replied smoothly. “Your guy had to get his… uh, situation checked out. Something about hemorrhoids.”

  The men exchanged glances before bursting into laughter. One of them, a burly ginger with a scar cutting across his jawline, gave Roy a confused look. “Wait, seriously?”

  “Hey, I’m just the stand-in,” Roy said with a shrug. "Must be bad if he had to hire someone like me."

  Another guard, a wiry man with a prosthetic arm, wiped tears from his eyes as he laughed. “Exploding hemorrhoids, huh? Poor bastard.”

  Roy smirked but kept his mouth shut, letting them run with the joke.

  The manager, still chuckling, signed off on the delivery. “Alright, new guy. I guess we’ll be seeing you again if his hemorrhoids acts up?”

  “Probably,” Roy said. “It’s a good gig. Better than most I’ve had and I don't he'd complain since I seemed to have done his job faster.”

  "Hah, he'd hate to heard," The ginger guard cocked his head, studying Roy more closely. “You’re an Earthling, aren’t you? I can hear it in your voice.”

  Roy nodded. “Yeah. Got here a while back.”

  The mood shifted subtly. There was a familiarity in the way they looked at him now, their expressions softening.

  “Earthling, huh?” the ginger said, grinning. “Well, welcome to Mars. Stick around long enough, and you might even start liking the place.”

  Roy chuckled. “We’ll see.”

  With the delivery done, Roy climbed back into the truck, the engine rumbling to life beneath him.

  The drive back to Alba was uneventful.

  The glow of the neon sign outside Haven flickered faintly, its hum blending with the steady drizzle that regularly blanketed Alba City. Inside, the bar was quiet, almost too quiet, with only the faint murmur of the news playing on a small screen behind the counter. Roy leaned on the bar, his glass half-full and his thoughts distant, while Kasi, the bartender and caretaker of the bar, lounged on a stool behind the counter.

  Kasi looked like she was about two minutes away from falling asleep. Her chin rested on her palm, her eyes glazed as she absently scrolled through her phone. The occasional beep or hum from the device punctuated the monotony of the evening.

  Running a bar that rarely had customers, Roy thought, must be a strange kind of freedom. There was no chaos, no endless orders to fill, but also no purpose beyond simply waiting. For Kasi, it seemed that waiting had become an art form.

  The news droned on about increased police activity in Alba City, a reaction to the failed assassination attempt on Alexander Dumas. Security firms were moving in, patrol drones now hovered over every major district, and CGOM’s budget for law enforcement had skyrocketed. Roy stirred his drink absentmindedly, listening but not really paying attention.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Kasi said, her voice breaking the stillness.

  “Not much to say,” Roy replied, taking a sip of his whiskey.

  She yawned and stretched, rolling her neck before sliding a cup of coffee across the counter toward him. “Here. Something from Earth. Strong stuff. You look like you could use it.”

  Roy sniffed the brew and smiled faintly. “Smells like home.”

  Kasi chuckled, pouring herself a cup. “Funny. Most people say Mars smells like home after they’ve been here long enough.”

  “Maybe. Not there yet.”

  She grinned, then reached under the counter and pulled out a chessboard, its pieces neatly arranged. Without a word, she set it on the bar and motioned for Roy to sit opposite her.

  The match was slow, Kasi taking her time with every move while Roy played with deliberate decisiveness. They didn’t talk much, the clinking of the pieces and the low hum of the news filling the space between them.

  “Are you always this slow?” Roy teased as she studied the board.

  Kasi shot him a playful glare. “Are you always this impatient?”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Just wondering if it’s always this dead around here.”

  “It is,” Kasi admitted, finally moving a rook. “Quiet nights are the norm. No fights, no trouble, just… this.”

  “Nothing exciting?”

  Kasi’s grin widened as she set her chin in her hand. “Well, my cat got his balls cut yesterday. That counts?”

  Roy snorted, shaking his head. “Not exactly what I’d call a highlight.”

  “Hey,” she said with mock indignation, “that’s as exciting as it gets for me.”

  Roy moved his queen, capturing one of her knights. “Must be a thrill, your life.”

  “Not as thrilling as yours,” Kasi replied, her tone sharpening slightly.

  Roy frowned, looking up from the board. “You think my life’s exciting?”

  She leaned forward, resting her arms on the counter. “You tell me. All this criminal stuff. Running around with syndicates, doing gigs for Uncle Lin Fang. Doesn’t that get your heart racing?”

  Roy shook his head. “Not really. It’s just work. Pays the bills, keeps me busy. Doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”

  “Then why do it?”

  Roy shrugged. “Because I don’t have a lot of options. Even if I did, I don’t want to go back to wage slaving. Tried that back on Earth. Hated it. Feels like I’ve already been through that chapter, and I’m not looking to reread it.”

  Kasi studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I get that.” She moved her bishop, her eyes flicking back to his. “But how long do you think you can keep it up? The gigs, I mean.”

  “Don’t know,” Roy admitted. “Depends. Are you hiring?”

  Kasi laughed, shaking her head. “Nope. Not like there’s much work to do around here. But if I ever need help, I’ll call you. Are you any good at bartending?”

  Roy smirked. “Guess we’ll find out.”

  Kasi grinned and stood, wiping the chessboard clean. “Come on. Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes.”

  Kasi then beckoned him behind the counter.

  “This okay?” he asked.

  “It’s fine,” she said, pulling out a couple of bottles. “Consider it training for that bartending gig I’m not offering you.”

  Roy stepped behind the bar, feeling strangely out of place. Kasi handed him a shaker and a measuring jigger, her grin widening as she explained the basics. He nodded along, taking mental notes as she demonstrated.

  “Now, your turn,” Kasi said, leaning against the counter.

  Roy followed her instructions, measuring out the ingredients and mixing them with surprising precision. When he handed her the finished drink, she took a sip, raising an eyebrow.

  “That’s actually… not bad,” Kasi said, sounding almost disappointed. “Unfair, though. You’re weirdly good at this for a first-timer.”

  Roy shrugged, smirking. “I’m a Max-skill character, you know??”

  Kasi rolled her eyes but laughed. “Right. You always say that.”

  “Because it’s the truth, man,” Roy poured himself a glass of what he’d mixed, taking a sip. “Tastes good. Are you sure you’re not hiring?”

  “Don’t push your luck,” she said, chuckling.

  As the night stretched on, the two of them returned to the chessboard. Kasi leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand as she studied Roy.

  “So,” she said, breaking the silence, “you got any romances going on?”

  Roy blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

  “You know,” she said, waving a hand. “Relationships. Girlfriends. Lovers. That sort of thing.”

  Roy frowned, thinking hard. “Not really,” he admitted. “Most of the women I’ve met are either hardasses or into girls or both.”

  Kasi raised an eyebrow. “Am I one of those hardasses?”

  Roy leaned back, smirking. “Don’t know. Are you?”

  Kasi feigned offense, putting a hand to her chest. “Wow. Nothing? Seriously?”

  “Didn’t say nothing,” Roy said, shrugging. “You’re not bad. Pretty, even. Just… haven’t thought about it, I guess.”

  “That’s rude,” Kasi said, though her tone was more amused than angry.

  “Sorry,” Roy said, though he didn’t sound entirely apologetic. “Just doesn’t cross my mind much. Not with the way things are. My lifestyle doesn’t exactly scream ‘relationship material.’”

  Kasi rolled her eyes. “Who said anything about relationships? I’m talking about getting laid, not settling down with a white picket fence.”

  Roy laughed, leaning forward. “And here I thought you were all prim and proper.”

  Kasi reached under the counter and pulled out a card, sliding it toward him. “If you’re looking for that kind of action, there’s a brothel downtown. They’re pretty good.”

  Roy picked up the card, turning it over in his hand. “What, you get a cut for sending customers their way?”

  Kasi’s grin faltered, and she laughed nervously. “Well… maybe.”

  Roy shook his head, chuckling. “Figured as much. You get a lot of their workers coming here?”

  “Sometimes,” she admitted, shrugging. “Quiet bar like this? They love the place.”

  Roy pocketed the card and raised his glass. “I’m actually surprised.”

  Kasi clinked her glass against his. “Salary isn't that high, you know? I have things to buy too.”

  Roy swirled his drink, watching the amber liquid catch the light from the flickering neon sign outside.

  “You’re at least lucky to have a job that’s… steady,” Roy said, breaking the silence.

  Kasi snorted. “Steady doesn’t mean thrilling. It’s not like I’m raking in the cash here. Have you ever thought about going full Syndicate? Even Irya’s always picking up contracts from them.”

  Roy raised a brow, sipping his drink slowly. “Not really my thing. I’m not exactly bloodthirsty, you know? The jobs I’ve done…” He trailed off, vague thoughts of the Dumas gig flickering through his mind. “They pay well, but they’re a slog. Too much time and too many variables.”

  “Then maybe we should brainstorm,” Kasi said with a grin, straightening. “Let’s figure out what you’re good at. What kind of certifications do you have?”

  Roy chuckled, shaking his head. “Funny you should mention that — I’m working on getting a license. Well, someone is.”

  “A license?” Kasi tilted her head. “For what?”

  “Piloting,” Roy said simply.

  “Piloting?” Kasi’s eyes narrowed as a mischievous smile spread across her face. “Wait, you’re telling me you can’t fly a spacejet?”

  Roy’s grin widened. “Fly a spacejet? Of course, I can fly a spacejet. Max-skill character, remember? All stats maxed. Flying one’s nothing.”

  Kasi leaned back, crossing her arms with an amused expression. “You keep saying you’re maxed out in skills, and yet… all you’re doing is taking gigs. If you were really maxed out, wouldn’t you be rolling in cash by now?”

  Roy groaned, leaning his head back dramatically. “Not my fault I’m combat-oriented. You know, shoot first, ask questions later kind of build.”

  “And yet,” Kasi pointed out, “you’re not doing mercenary work. Seems like a waste.”

  Roy smirked and slid his queen across the chessboard, checkmating her for the third time that night.

  “Unbelievable,” Kasi muttered, glaring at the board. “You’re using software, aren’t you?”

  “Only glasses I’ve got are the ones Irya gave me,” Roy replied innocently.

  Kasi narrowed her eyes, but there was a playful glint behind her gaze. “You and Irya seem to get along well.”

  “So?” Roy asked, taking another sip of his drink.

  “She’s not exactly the sociable type,” Kasi said, leaning her elbows on the counter.

  Roy frowned, tilting his head. “Really? Doesn’t seem like it.”

  “She’s professional,” Kasi explained. “Keeps to herself unless it’s work-related. Always has been.”

  “How’d you two even meet?” Roy asked, curiosity lacing his tone.

  Kasi shrugged. “Not an exciting story. Boss hired her for a week to watch her back. Nothing happened, though—just stood guard and collected her pay. Then the Boss recommended the bar, and she’s been a regular ever since.”

  Roy nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. “Disappointed?” Kasi asked, smirking.

  “Not really,” Roy said. “She doesn’t strike me as someone who does this for fun or adrenaline.”

  “Even with the axe?” Kasi teased.

  “Even with the axe,” Roy affirmed with a chuckle.

  Kasi leaned against the counter, a nostalgic smile creeping onto her face. “She used to dress a lot more tacticool, you know. Full-on gear—combat harnesses, pouches, armor. But after one hell of a gunfight, she started going for quieter methods.”

  “By dressing sexy?” Roy asked, raising a brow.

  Kasi laughed. “Not always. She still has the tacticool gear for heavier missions. But some gigs… well, let’s just say subtlety works better. Besides, have you seen the way people act when someone like her walks into a room dressed like that?”

  Roy leaned back, imagining it. “Wouldn’t surprise me if she lures targets into hotel rooms and… axes them.”

  Kasi shrugged. “Honestly? Probably makes it easier.”

  Roy stared at his drink, swirling the liquid. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Kasi adjusted the pieces on the chessboard absentmindedly. “Not that she talks about her jobs much. When she’s here, it’s to relax, not think about work.”

  “That makes sense,” Roy said. “You’re not the moralizing type, though, are you?”

  Kasi scoffed. “Moralizing? No. I grew up near a Cartel-infested area on Earth. You learn quickly that everyone does what they have to in order to survive. I’m not about to lecture someone on how to live their life.”

  Roy glanced at her curiously. “Cartel territory? By the way, you mixed?”

  “Yeah,” Kasi said with a nod. “Half Spanish, half French.”

  Roy grinned. “Technically Martian now, too.”

  Kasi smirked. “True.”

  The soft chime of the bar door opening pulled their attention. A pair of women walked in, their dresses tight and their heels clicking against the floor. Roy took one look at them and immediately guessed their line of work.

  Kasi’s expression didn’t change. She greeted them with a warm smile, motioning for them to take a seat at the far end of the bar.

  Roy decided to give them space, sliding off his stool and finding a booth near the back. From there, he could see the news playing on the small screen near the bar.

  The broadcast shifted to a report on the CDPO, the Colonial Division of Public Order. Drones patrolled the streets, their cameras scanning for anything that looked out of place. The anchor went on about increased cases of augmented individuals going berserk—malfunctions, breakdowns, or just poor decisions leading to chaos.

  Roy sipped his drink, the faint buzz of alcohol warming him as he watched.

  The city seems to never calm down.

  Always on edge, always waiting for the next spark to ignite something bigger.