Jaydon's Joint

"I heard the Rogues got seen in Colony 1. You heard of that, S?"

Artemis Stevenson, otherwise known as "S," (There were too many young women on Planet Artemis with that name.) shrugged. "Don't matter to me what's going on out on the plains. Just, uh, just as long as I don't get blown up, you know?"

Both she and the slightly older man, Jackson, spoke in whispers. S glanced over at the large robot standing vigilantly in the corner of the cramped room. The robots were called "Decentralized Armed Drones," or DAD's for short. No-one ever commented on the acronym being amusing.

Jackson was an idiot. You never talked about the Rogues in public, and certainly not when there was a DAD in the room. Fortunately the robot did not seem to be paying attention to them.

This time of the evening, Jaydon's Joint was packed with customers. Most of them were lowest-class laborers for the company; hunched, hard people who came in after a day's work smelling like garbage and chemicals. Whenever S looked over the crowd, she quietly reflected on how lucky she was to be in her position. Being one of the Joint Girls (or, as the company preffered to call them, "Recreation Stewards.") was pretty easy compared to most jobs available in Colony 3. Just look pretty in uniform, remember which customer ordered which drink, do not let anyone beat the house at the dice tables, and stay out of trouble. Sure, between this and housework she only got about an hour-and-a-half of sleep each night, but in S's book, that was a decent tradeoff.

Not like Jackson here, who worked in the power station on five-hour shifts, but would probably die of radiation exposure by the time he was thirty.

"Hey," Jackson interrupted her thoughts, "You gonna' spin the wheel or what?"

"Sorry," muttered S automatically. She leaned over the dice-table and spun the segmented wheel at its center. Jackson rolled a twelve-sided die into the spinning wheel.

It landed on a two. "Two. You lose," said S bluntly.

On either side of the table was a small keypad with a screen and a stylus attached to it. On her screen, S could see how much credit Jackson had bet on that roll. She pressed a single button, and the number disappeared, the credit vanishing from Jackson's bank account into some mysterious Smicht-Goldston maintained region of cyberspace.

Poor Jackson seemed convinced that he had a chance of winning his fortune at the casino. He must know--he must, somewhere deep in his mind realize--that the games were unwinnable, but he refused to believe it. S did not know what kind of pay he got at his job, but between utilities and what he blew at the dice tables, she had her doubts that he would be eating the next day. His loss.

"Another round, Jackson?" she offered.

Jackson rubbed his face with his hands. "Nah, forget it. I'm done tonight."

S turned on her heels and went to attend to other customers.

At the bar, S caught her sister arguing with a customer in whispers.

"You can't have anymore, Sir. There isn't anymore," explained Stella Stevenson.

"Bullshit!" declared the old man, albiet in a low voice. "I-I've heard this here before, kid--"

"Look, I'd help if I could, but I can't."

The man stood up. Although he was old and frail, he towered over Stella. "Bullshit, bullshit. I don't wan' any of this 'I've had enough' nonsense."

S sighed. Whatever the problem was, her younger sister was not handling it very diplomatically. She pushed a customer out of the way and inserted herself between Stell and the old man. "Sorry about my sister," she said, "What's up?"

"She's saying there's no beer."

S looked around, hoping to see her manager, but Jaydon Aviv was nowhere to be seen. "Hang on," S urged the customer.

She ran to around the bar and came up next to Stella. "Stella," she asked, "let me see."

Stella gestured to the shelves benath the bar, commenting, "See for yourself."

S looked. The transparent plastic jugs that would normally contain beer were all empty. "Hang on, I'll check in the back."

As she turned to do just that, another old man came up (a friend of the first's?). "What's goin' on? What's she checking?"

"They're saying there ain't no more beer," explained the first one.

"No more beer!" shouted the second one at the top of his voice. Suddenly everyone in the room, even the DAD's, stopped at looked at the Stevenson sisters. For a silent moment, the two young women returned the stares, then S grabbed Stella by the arm and pulled her into the employee's-only back-room. "Stay here," she commanded the younger girl.

S grabbed the handle of a small, wheeled table, upon which rested a huge metal keg--the size of a small person--with a spout sticking out the end. She pulled the thing out into the front room.

Seeing it, the patrons cheered and shouted. A few of them crowded around. S pointed to another Joint Girl who had been standing in a corner chatting up some young man. "Chloë!" she shouted, "Deal with this!"

Chloë ran up and began to ration out drinks while S returned to the back room. Stella was staring down at the floor, saying nothing.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" demanded S. "You can't just--you gotta'--" she gestured vaguely to the pantry next to them. "Okay?"

Stella looked up at her, uncomprehending. She ran out the back door, out of the building. S shouted Stella's name and ran after her.

When Mazak walked in he immediantly heard commotion all around him. He twirled looking around trying to find the source, confused as to what exactly was occurring. His eyes, searching the area rapidly, found the source. The bartender it looked like. People were grumbling and looking at each other in what seemed like panic, two girls were standing there and staring back at the crowd who were staring at them. Then eventually what ever they wanted must have been brought out because everyone began to cheer which left him confused even more than when he entered. So instead of trying to venture through the crowd he looked around for his mother, he saw her quickly laying down items at a table and walked briskly to her.

"Hey, how are you dear?" his mother asked when she saw him out of the corner of her eye, he shrugged simply, "Tired. Like always, what time do you think you are getting off tonight?" she looked up and her eyes were glazed over, she seemed lost. It was like she didn't know where she was, but then she blinked a few times to clear her vision and then looked around as the memories of recent events all came flooding back to her. She scared Mazak a lot lately, it seemed like she needed to stop working and see a doctor or something, she wasn't anything close to healthy anymore, her health dropped dramatically when his father died, it seemed like everything went down hill because of that.

"It doesn't look like I am getting off anytime soon." Mazak snapped out of his thoughts at his mother's voice then frowned, "Late night huh? Do you mind if I hang out then?" his mother looked around her place of work again, seemingly close to falling back in to her glazed over mind frame, but some how clinged on, "Maybe for a little while. I don't know if the manager will be okay with it. I'm sure if you pay for service and such it couldn't hurt for you to stick around." with a nod Mazak walked to his normal table, slid in to the seat and began to relax, what a day. He almost felt himself fall in to sleep's grip, that was desperately trying to pull him down and hold him there. Maybe it would happen, maybe it wouldn't, it all depended on how long he wanted to fight the sensation pulling at him. A kind looking girl walked over to him and told him that as soon as someone was avaliable they would wait on him, and then she began to apologize continually about the delay he would have.

Mazak shrugged it off and smiled at her saying it was no problem, he was in no rush. After all, he wasn't. There wasn't anything to rush, his mom was busy so he wouldn't be trying to go home anytime soon, not until everything died down and he was ready to take her home. Then he would start up the conversation about her health, and try to get her to quit saying he was still young and he could take on a few extra jobs to cover his mother's expenses, and of course she would say that there was no need. Then in a polite yet commanding voice tell him to stop with such thoughts, after all they never had screaming matches like a lot of the other parents and kids did. No there was mutual respect there. The conversation that he played in his head was easy to imagine, because they have had it every night. He has wanted nothing more than having his mother relax like she needed to and try to perserve as many years as she could, but she was a worker.

She loved to earn her own money and her own things, she hated to have someone pay for her all the time. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed then talked out loud to himself: "Oh mother... When will you give up and just try to live calmly and peacefully? You deserve it and you need the rest. Everyone knows that after father's death you have been working yourself too much, it is almost like you are trying to hurry to the after life to meet him." he froze as he said that last line, then looked over to where his mother was hustling around trying to get all the tasks that she needed done accomplished. Then he whispered something that was barely audible, a prayer, that is something it could be considered in a way. It was more like a plea though, something he was silently asking, no, begging his mother to do. Please tell me that isn't what you are doing... Please tell me that the stress isn't going to drive you to death... Mother... Please... Don't follow father...