Outcast Bars

Outcast clubs always made for an interesting place to be. Whether it was the often eclectic, sometimes borderline psychotic, personalities of the patrons or the always racing lights and sounds, these establishments were a hive of activity; legal and otherwise. Drusus and I were no strangers to these sights though. We too were part of the clans. All of us Outcasts. Spacers who cast themselves out into the Great Void to seek fame and fortune at the cost of living in the most inhabitable place ever known. But at the very least, when you did go you didn't die a Syndicate man. Though we weren't exactly alone in Norwell's System.

Whatever the case, the place we were at was known as Midgard. Its logo stylized with an orbital assault pod in full burn replacing the "i". Clearly a Spacer Tek made T-AEV in Outcast green and gold. The club itself was a rather public affair stationed right outside the main port of Offa Station. However, Midgard itself was in sharp contrast to the rest of the station's drab grey on grey color scheme.

In here you could see neon in the air. Brightly colored, projected, leaves patterned everything from the walls to the people and everything else in between. Large, synthetic tree like things stood along the walls and across the ceiling. All together creating an illusion of a pulsing jungle canopy. It was something glorious and I was captivated in its simulated immensity.

The music was of an acceptable variety as well. A surprise for something so far out in the Frontier whose musical tastes tended to drift from the standardization of the core worlds. Somehow these spacers had found what must have been jungle noises and merged it with a heavy trance beat. I felt it helped complete Midgard's rendition of long, lost, Earth. However, despite my attempt to tell Drusus about this micro revelation, he reminded me we were here on business. Business of a decidedly grey area.

Here we were to make a deal with an apparently small detachment of Outcast marines looking to secure a well size munitions shipment. One that we had acquired through what was logged as legitimate Syndicate salvage. Though looking across the semi-circle table and through the green crystallized glasses I could see the guy. And through the neon points of light washing across what must be their leader, I got stuck on something. I could not help but wonder why they even bothered to muscle up with the Syndicate anymore. It was not something I could ever stand behind. As oppressive as the Syndicate may be to their opposition, in my mind the Outcasts were no better. Sure we were electing a new Grand Jarl, but who fucking cares. The whole point of the Outcasts was to be free. To create new life beyond our missing Earth. The same one we imitated a thousand times over but couldn't be bothered to try and find again.

Drusus, on the other hand, felt differently about the subject. He was a man of the Void through and through. A fanatic in it even. I doubt he would even log Earth on the chart if stumbled across it. To him, even now lounging in the glow of projected neon leaves, I could tell he was not even reminded of Earth. Just some other planet out there with trees. But, I could tell he wasn't even thinking that. A look had come across his brow. These Outcast marines were not gonna play well.

In my mind I wished they would not do this. I wished they would not spoil this sanctuary of bygone home. But it could not be helped. Not in a world where humanity had new worlds to fight over. So, I looked back from Drusus who had straightened his posture to a forward, but careful seated position, directed towards the marines. A hollow red triangle appeared on each of their chests in turn. Three targets transmitted to my cyberware and projected across the inside of my cold eyes. I knew what was coming.

"ENGAGE. ENGAGE. ENGAGE," flashed over and over across my eyes.

I was the first to draw. I splashed away that memory of the old world into broken bodies and perforated, synthetic, trees.