Interstellar Fighter

Chapter 4: Hard Cash and Soft Places

After what felt like an eternity of swinging a hydraulic pick in the lightless mines, David felt like the rust and rock dust had seeped into the very marrow of his bones. On payday, seeing the number—modest but tangible—appear on his personal terminal, a long-dormant desire to spend money stirred within him. In the base, money was mostly useless, good for little more than buying an extra portion of plastic-tasting synth-steak in the mess hall.

"Hey, rookie, got some 'dust' saved up, eh?" The speaker was Luke, a big, red-headed man from Eastern Australia and one of the mine's top drill operators. He'd often regaled David with tales of the "outside" world. "The lads and I are heading to Shatterice. Only proper den of vice in this whole shithole. Wanna come along? Broaden your horizons."

Luke nudged David with an elbow, winking. "Guaranteed to make you forget the smell of mine slag. Know what I mean? The girls there... from all over! White, Black, Latina... Mmm. Top-shelf dermal tech, smooth as silk, a million times better than those ancient VR reels you watch!"

David felt his face grow warm. Since his breakup with his ex, he'd definitely been in a... dry spell. The mine was all roughnecks. The only woman was Anna, the stern engineer who maintained the Scavenger AIs, and rumor had it she and Jack had something going on.

He went to Uncle Perry, stammering a bit about wanting to see Shatterice. Perry, a cigar stub in his mouth as he cleaned Old Bear's joint bearings, didn't look up. "You're eighteen, David. A grown man in the eyes of the law and God. Long as you don't get yourself killed, your money and your d**k are your own business. Shatterice is a mixed bag, but the Korean cops keep a lid on things. You won't die. Go on. Just be back before first shift. B-sector drill needs maintenance tomorrow."

Armed with his uncle's typical veteran's "blessing," David, Luke, and another miner—a quiet, hulking man of possible Nordic descent named Henrik—piled into a battered, scraped-up old hover-truck and bounced their way towards the edge of the ice plains.

Shatterice was less a town and more a chaotic bazaar under a massive artificial dome, a tangled mess of temporary structures, neon signs, and a ceaseless flow of humanity. The moment they passed inside, a wall of noise and a complex odor of spices, sweat, and unknown chemical perfumes hit David, making him slightly dizzy.

Holographic ads danced overhead, hawking the latest neural-link games, "real meat" burgers from Martian farms, and all sorts of bizarre, genetically-edited pets that were clearly not of earthly origin. Hawkers sold questionable electronics, second-hand weapon parts, and Indian herbs claiming to "enhance male vigor." A dizzying array of people brushed past: corporate types in suits hurrying along; Central Asian traders in traditional headwear, eyes wary; and many more like themselves, in work clothes, radiating the "just got paid" aura of miners and freighter crew.

"Welcome to the jungle, kid," Luke grinned, clearly enjoying David's wide-eyed stare.

Luke and Henrik, however, had no interest in sightseeing. Their target was locked in with missile precision. After navigating a few crowded streets, they stopped before a building adorned with pink neon and a holographic sign of a rotating 3D high-heeled shoe.

"'Stairway to Heaven'. We're here," Luke rubbed his hands together like a kid at Christmas.

Inside, the lighting was low and suggestive, the music a throbbing, seductive beat. The air was thick with cheap perfume. Women in revealing outfits and with surgically-enhanced figures lounged in booths or on barstools, their eyes—either languid or professionally inviting—sweeping over every new arrival. As Luke had promised, it was a veritable "United Nations": pale-skinned, blonde Euro-types; curvaceous, fiery Latinas; delicate-featured Asians with an exotic allure; and women of African descent with a wild beauty. Without exception, their skin was impossibly smooth, clearly the product of high-end cosmeceuticals and gene-mods.

David's heart hammered, his throat dry. A petite girl with flaxen hair and green eyes caught his gaze. She looked like she might have Eastern European ancestry, and there was a hint of shyness and unease about her that set her apart from her more seasoned colleagues.

Luke was already heading upstairs, arm around a voluptuous Black woman. Henrik silently chose a tall, aloof-looking Euro-type. David took a deep breath and approached the flaxen-haired girl.

"H-Hi," he stammered. "You... free?"

She looked up, assessed him, and offered a small, seemingly relieved smile. "Of course. I'm Sophia. You are new here?"

David followed Sophia up a creaking metal staircase, her hips swaying gently before him, the thin fabric of her dress doing little to hide the outline of her youthful body. She opened a plain white metal door. The room was small, dominated by a double bed with white sheets. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and synthetic perfume.

Sophia began undressing wordlessly, her movements efficient. First, the cheap sequined dress pooled on the floor, then her underwear. Her body, exposed in the dim light, was thinner than it had seemed clothed, her skin almost translucent, showing faint blue veins beneath. Her breasts were small but well-shaped, n*****s a pale pink.

David was painfully hard, his pants uncomfortably tight. He practically lunged at her, pinning her against the wall, his rough hands groping her breasts, his mouth clumsily devouring her neck and collarbone. Sophia let out a tiny gasp, her body stiffening for a second before going limp, yielding to his movements. She smelled of sweat, and the smoke and alcohol from downstairs, mixed with the floral scent of her soap.

"Gently..." she whispered, turning her head away, her breath warm on his cheek.

David barely heard. He fumbled with his pants, freeing his aching erection. He hitched her thigh up, his fingers probing roughly between her legs. She was somewhat wet, but barely. He didn't care. He turned her around, made her brace her hands against the wall, and entered her from behind. She was tight and warm, enveloping him, sending a shiver up his spine.

He thrust into her fiercely, the bedframe and wall thumping in rhythm. Sophia rocked under his assault, her flaxen hair sticking to her damp temples and cheeks. She bit her lip, stifling any loud sounds, only letting out suppressed, ragged breaths. The flesh of her buttocks reddened from the impact; the friction inside her was raw.

David was lost in his own desire. He gripped her hip bones, his nails nearly digging in, putting his full force into every thrust, as if trying to expel all the pent-up energy of the past months into this strange, young body. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her smooth back. He smelled the scent of her hair at the nape of her neck, saw the outline of her shoulder blades trembling with each impact—it all drove him wild.

It might have only been minutes, but to David it felt like an age. An intense wave of pleasure shot up his spine. He grunted, his body shuddering violently as he spilled his heat deep inside her. He collapsed onto her back, gulping air, all strength drained from his limbs.

Once his breathing steadied, Sophia silently shifted away. She walked to the small bathroom alcove in the corner and, half-turning her back to him, began cleaning herself with a disposable towel.

David pulled up his pants. Watching her retreating back, a profound emptiness swiftly flooded in, washing away the brief, intense pleasure. He said nothing, pulled the door open, and hurried down the stairs, leaving the small room that now smelled of s*x.

Emerging from the room, David's steps were a little unsteady, but his body and mind felt a novel sense of relaxation and satisfaction. Holy hell… He whistled inwardly. That was f*****g worth every credit. Sophia had been a bit inexperienced, but gentle, making him feel desired, like a man, for the first time in ages.

He waited downstairs for what felt like a while before Luke and Henrik finally ambled down, wearing smug, satiated grins.

"So, rookie? Do us proud?" Luke laughed, throwing an arm around David's neck.

David smirked back, remembering how they'd left him waiting. He promptly, and with feeling, flipped them both off, along with two other miner colleagues who descended later.

"Screw you guys! I'm heading home!" he shot back with a laugh.

"Home, my ass!" Luke grabbed his arm. "The night is still young! Come on, drinks are on me! Gotta initiate our little miner properly!"

The group swarmed into a raucous bar called the "Drunken Anchor." Cheap synth-whiskey and beer flowed like water, the alcohol quickly fueling the mood. Somehow, Luke got into a shouting match with a group that looked like freighter crew, arguing over some sports team or a pop star.

"What did you say? Say that again, you bastard?!" Luke roared, his face red.

"I said you mining grubs belong in the dirt, eating rocks!" a bald, brawny man from the other group shot back.

"Son of a b***h!"

The next moment, the air shattered with the sound of breaking glass, roars, and the wet thud of fists meeting flesh. Pumped up on booze and adrenaline, David didn't think; he just waded into the fray. It was chaos. He didn't know who he hit, or who hit him, but he felt a warm wetness under his nose. Probably bleeding.

Suddenly, piercing sirens cut through the noise.

"Police! Everyone, freeze!"

A squad of police in dark blue uniforms, peaked caps, and cold expressions stormed in, brandishing shock batons and non-lethal pulse guns. They moved with brutal efficiency, swiftly separating the brawling mass, not hesitating to use their batons on any still-resisting drunks.

David was roughly forced to the ground, his hands twisted behind his back, and shoved into an enclosed police hover-van along with Luke and the others.

They sat in the holding cell for what seemed like hours, listening to the moans and retches of some other poor soul in a neighboring cell. Eventually, a sallow-faced Korean police officer with hawk-like eyes entered. In heavily accented English, he pronounced their sentence: "Public intoxication, disorderly conduct, property damage. Under Europa Autonomous Zone regulations: fine of 1500 credits each. Pay, and go. Don't pay, fifteen days detention, and we notify your company."

"What?! 1500?!" Luke wailed. "That's three weeks' pay!"

David was stunned too. He patted his pockets. Yesterday's pay, already depleted at the "Stairway" and the "Anchor," wasn't nearly enough for the fine. In the end, Uncle Perry, notified and looking furious, had to come and cover David's fine.

Back at the mine, under Perry's "I-told-you-so" glare and looking at his zeroed-out credit balance, David felt like crying.

Well, s**t. His interstellar 'fancy man' pass had expired. It was back to being an interstellar miner.