in the form of whatever preservative-ridden, vitamin-fortified, partially hydrogenated, high calorie snack was on sale when you ran out last time. Currently it was something that claimed to be pepperoni protein bars and tasted vaguely like spicy sawdust. It wasn’t difficult to understand why food cooked on a griddle and a bathroom with actual toilets would be nice before a week of travel.
Like most small space stations, this place was shaped like a massive wagon wheel, spinning fast enough to give the approximation of gravity. Lex hailed the landing coordinator and negotiated a spot in one of the docking ports along the inside rim. All he had to do was get in the same ballpark as the dock and tractor beams did the rest of the work. In no time the hiss of artificial atmosphere let him know that it was safe to open the hatch and head inside.
There – along with a couple of convenience stores, hardware stores, and repair shops - was a greasy spoon. That would do just fine. He took a seat and waved over the waitress behind the counter. She had the sort of dead eyed gaze that made it clear that she wasn’t the talkative type, so he pointed out the three egg special on the menu.
“ Over easy,” he said.
The eggs were in front of him quickly enough to make him wonder if they were someone else’s order, but that suited him fine. While he shoveled them down, Lex decided to take advantage of the high bandwidth data connection advertized on the menu to pull down some messages and entertainment for the trip. He activated his slidepad’s wireless, loaded up his download queue, and slipped it into his pocket to wait for it to finish. Five minutes later, barely six gigs of data had been pulled down.
“ High bandwidth my ass,” Lex muttered, mopping up the remains of his eggs with the remains of his toast, “Hey, you guys take chips, right?”
The surly woman behind the counter shook her head slowly and continued scraping at the griddle.
“ I see. Then we’ve got a little problem, because that’s all I’ve got,” he said.
She thrust a finger toward the opposite side of the establishment, where another patron was just finishing up with a video poker machine. If casino chips were the new cash, poker kiosks were the new ATMs. He sat down and plunked a few of the tokens he’d been paid as advance into the machine. All he really needed to do was cash out his winnings into his bank account, but he always played a few hands, just on the off chance that a flush would make breakfast free.
His slidepad chirped just as he’d failed to get jacks or better for the third straight time. He dug it out with one hand while pulling up the cash-out menu with the other. Once the credits were in his account, he looked at the notification bar. It was mostly increasingly angry bill collectors, but one message was from someone with the screen name NixMix66Six. He tapped it, expecting spam.
“ Trevor, Get back to me.”
It was a voice only message, but the voice was vaguely familiar and conjured a fairly specific image. It was the clipped, nasally voice of a woman who thought a lot more of herself than anyone else did. Normally Lex didn’t want to deal with those types. His agent had been one. His lawyer had been one. Neither had served him particularly well when the going got rough. But she’d called him Trevor. People who wanted money or to put him in jail called him Mr. Alexander. Most everyone else called him Lex or T-Lex. The only people who called him by his first name were those who knew him through family or Michella.
“ Six eighty-five,” said the lady behind the counter, as he walked past.
“ Hey, so you can speak,” Lex quipped, sweeping his pad over the paypad built into the counter, “We’ll call it an even thousand. Remember me next time, will you?”
It was a good policy to make yourself known as a big tipper in places like this. You never knew when it would come in handy. He made the customary trip to the
Like most small space stations, this place was shaped like a massive wagon wheel, spinning fast enough to give the approximation of gravity. Lex hailed the landing coordinator and negotiated a spot in one of the docking ports along the inside rim. All he had to do was get in the same ballpark as the dock and tractor beams did the rest of the work. In no time the hiss of artificial atmosphere let him know that it was safe to open the hatch and head inside.
There – along with a couple of convenience stores, hardware stores, and repair shops - was a greasy spoon. That would do just fine. He took a seat and waved over the waitress behind the counter. She had the sort of dead eyed gaze that made it clear that she wasn’t the talkative type, so he pointed out the three egg special on the menu.
“ Over easy,” he said.
The eggs were in front of him quickly enough to make him wonder if they were someone else’s order, but that suited him fine. While he shoveled them down, Lex decided to take advantage of the high bandwidth data connection advertized on the menu to pull down some messages and entertainment for the trip. He activated his slidepad’s wireless, loaded up his download queue, and slipped it into his pocket to wait for it to finish. Five minutes later, barely six gigs of data had been pulled down.
“ High bandwidth my ass,” Lex muttered, mopping up the remains of his eggs with the remains of his toast, “Hey, you guys take chips, right?”
The surly woman behind the counter shook her head slowly and continued scraping at the griddle.
“ I see. Then we’ve got a little problem, because that’s all I’ve got,” he said.
She thrust a finger toward the opposite side of the establishment, where another patron was just finishing up with a video poker machine. If casino chips were the new cash, poker kiosks were the new ATMs. He sat down and plunked a few of the tokens he’d been paid as advance into the machine. All he really needed to do was cash out his winnings into his bank account, but he always played a few hands, just on the off chance that a flush would make breakfast free.
His slidepad chirped just as he’d failed to get jacks or better for the third straight time. He dug it out with one hand while pulling up the cash-out menu with the other. Once the credits were in his account, he looked at the notification bar. It was mostly increasingly angry bill collectors, but one message was from someone with the screen name NixMix66Six. He tapped it, expecting spam.
“ Trevor, Get back to me.”
It was a voice only message, but the voice was vaguely familiar and conjured a fairly specific image. It was the clipped, nasally voice of a woman who thought a lot more of herself than anyone else did. Normally Lex didn’t want to deal with those types. His agent had been one. His lawyer had been one. Neither had served him particularly well when the going got rough. But she’d called him Trevor. People who wanted money or to put him in jail called him Mr. Alexander. Most everyone else called him Lex or T-Lex. The only people who called him by his first name were those who knew him through family or Michella.
“ Six eighty-five,” said the lady behind the counter, as he walked past.
“ Hey, so you can speak,” Lex quipped, sweeping his pad over the paypad built into the counter, “We’ll call it an even thousand. Remember me next time, will you?”
It was a good policy to make yourself known as a big tipper in places like this. You never knew when it would come in handy. He made the customary trip to the
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