The walls of the space station Fortitude bore the scars of long-forgotten skirmishes: bullets, shrapnel, and who knows what else, lifeless reminders of battles fought. Yet despite its brutal past, Fortitude was a haven in this unstable corner of the galaxy, her metallic heart still pulsing with life.
Larry Taxem floated into the run-down mess hall, a seasoned miner who had seen more quarries than there were stars in the Milky Way. His hard gaze scanned the room, reflected in the cold steel of the ever-rippling alcohol in his cup. "Another day in paradise," he grunted, downing his glass of Alderan whiskey, its harsh heat coursing through him, a fleeting reminder of what it meant to feel.
"Well, taxman, you look like you've been on the wrong side of a Nebula-kick," smirked a voice from across the room. Nara Gorden, a tech mechanic with a reputation sharper than her tongue, was approaching him, the smirk fixed beneath eyes as cold as ice.
"Better a Nebula-kick than a flirtatious talk with a malfunctioning AI," Taxem retorted. The corners of his mouth turned slightly upward in a ghost of a grin, his fingers tapping the empty glass in an eager rhythm of request.
His retort was met with a hearty laugh from Nara, who proceeded to fill up his glass again, a generous pour resulting in amber liquor being gulped down by zero gravity. "Cheers, Larry," she said, "May our futures be as full as your glass."