The office was located at the very edge of the cylindrical space station and boasted a large bay window, adorned with expensive potted plants on either side and presenting a breathtaking view of the planet below.
John Sterric himself was sitting behind his desk with his back to the door when Jack walked in the room, gazing at the mountains, rivers and oceans of Phaethon as they slowly drifted past the window.
“Daencin Piscer.” he sneered without turning around, “I heard you flew a hundred trillion kilometers to come crawling back to me.”
“It’s Jack.” said Jack, “And I’m an independent contractor now, so get over yourself, John.”
Mr. Sterric spun his chair around to face his old acquaintance. His suite consisted of a grey and silvery collarless shirt with a metallic slash draped diagonally across his chest. The standard fashion in this era among officers of the Terran Autocracy.
“It’s Ieirn to you, Daencin.” he said, “I know you like to dress like one of these Phaethian bumpkins, but don’t forget, we’re both Terrans in this room.”
Jack laughed, “Ieirn Sterric,” he said as he sat down and helped himself to one of the complimentary cigars, “You know, it’s funny. Somebody told me on the way in here that the locals like to call you Iron Sterric.” He lit the cigar, crossed his leg, leaned back, and blew a long stream of smoke. John looked at the cigar and crinkled his mouth in disgust.
“God, I hate those things,” he said.
“Then why do you have them?” said Jack, smoking away.
“Because the bumpkins love ‘em. They think it’s rude if you don’t offer them. My god, you’d think the officials, at least, would be more civilised.” He looked Jack up and down. Jack grinned and took another puff.
He said, “If you hate this place so much, why did you agree to come back here?”
“Because that’s what was asked of me. You see, Daencin, I do what the Autocracy requires of me. Something, I’m sure, you’ll never understand.”
“I understand perfectly well. I just prefer to live my own life. But hey, that’s what’s great about this place; people can live the way they want here.”
“Well, you enjoy it while it lasts. It’s only a matter of time before we take over.” John spun his chair around to, once again, gaze out the window. A majestic mountain range was drifting by and the light of the system’s two suns, now sinking over the horizon, reflected off the rivers, which, up here in orbit, gave them the appearance of luminescent trees.
“And none too soon, either, if you ask me.” he said, “She’s too beautiful to be ruled by these barbarians.”
Jack set his cigar down in the ashtray and flicked away the ashes.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks.” he said.
~
Back on Phaethon, Jim Starkey was sitting at the bar at a local pub nursing a pint of cold beer and silently brooding. He finished the last gulp and angrily slammed the mug on the bar. His bartender, a middle-aged man with a thick, salt-and-peppered mustache named Bill, stepped up while washing a mug and said, “Why so glum, chum?”
“Can I get another beer?” said Jim, ignoring the question. Bill finished washing the mug and filled it up with a pint. He made a move to hand it to Jim but held it back when Jim reached for it.
“What’s the matter, Jimmy-boy?” he said.
“Ah shit, Bill,” said Jim, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“C’mon, Jim, I knew you since you were this big.” said Bill, gesturing the size of a baby with his hands, “It wouldn’t have anything to do with a ‘68 Cobrasnake, now would it?”
Jim gave Bill an irritated look.
“It’s Ted.” he said, “Bastard’s suing me for fifty thousand bucks. That’s more than the damn car was worth. Can I have my beer now?”
Bill slid him the pint. He said, “That’s no way to talk about your father, Jim.”
“Ted’s not my father.” said Jim.
“He’s the closest thing you got.”
“Yeah, for whatever the hell that’s worth. Anyways, I’m nine* years old now, I can get along just fine without his bastard ass.”
* About 18 in earth years
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