The place didn’t have a name, just a peeled plastic sheet sign that read FOOD / CANTEEN in four languages. The door always squeaked when it opened. The tables were bolted to the floor, and the lighting was wrong, too blue, too close, buzzing like a dying insect. Marie came here because it was consistent. The food was edible. The owner - a tall, rotund Turanic Raider that had a heavily scarred face partially covered up by his hair, never asked questions.
He was wiping utensils again. Always wiped them on his coat, not dirty, but soaked from washing. He sterilized them before every meal, even though no one ever asked him to. Maybe he just liked the gesture. She sat at her usual booth. Table four, near the corner. No line of sight to the door. No line of fire, either. Perfect. He brought her plate without speaking: boiled meat with brine-root, bolani, and pickled stalks on the side. A cup of cheap Taiidani kvass. Pale brown. Flat. Familiar.
A minute later, KUn-de sat down across from her. Not to eat, it didn’t eat - but because Marie was there. It folded its arms on the table, like it had seen humans do, and said nothing. Marie sipped the kvass. Took a bite. Chewed. Looked past KUn-de, out the window, where station life crawled on. Then the door opened again.
Two men in PCF garb entered - Primosk Cordon Force. Dark-red epaulets. Taiidan Imperialist armbands, faded from age and being washed over and over again. Their rifles were slung lazily, not like they were hunting - more like they were entitled to be armed. The younger one had a lazy gait. The older one walked like a man still wearing parade boots in his mind. They ordered nothing, just scanned the room. Marie didn’t move. She sipped. She didn’t speak to KUn-de, but she shifted slightly in her seat - ready to stand or duck. KUn-de didn’t react, but its left shoulder servo coiled tighter.
The older officer approached.
“Are you Marie?” he asked, Galactic Common tinged with Taiidan sharpness. “Marie of Kiith Soban, freelance PMC?”
The younger one repeated the question in thick, slow Taiidani. She understood maybe five words. She looked at him. Blinked. Then answered with the best non-answer she had.
“Ne ponimayu.” The accent was wrong. Blatantly Hiigaran.
The officer smirked.
“Your Taiidani is terrible. You’re obviously Hiigaran.”
She said nothing.
“You’re not in trouble,” he added. “We’ve got no interest in your past. We’re here because we have need of someone with your... talent."
Marie raised an eyebrow, finally acknowledging him.
“Theoretical physicist,” the officer said. “From a better-off remnant kingdom. He’s coming here to study anomalies. He’s soft. Smart, but soft.”
He paused for a second before continuing. “We need someone to make sure he leaves the Zone in one piece. You’d be paid. Handsomely.”
She didn’t reply. She didn’t even blink. Just stared. He reached into his coat, slowly, and pulled out a small datachip, placing it next to her kvass cup. The metal clinked against the table.
“Think about it.”
And they left. No threat. No pressure. Just the offer, like a loose nail in the room’s structure. Marie looked at the chip. Didn’t touch it right away. KUn-de broke the silence.
“Interesting lunch interruption.”
Marie replied with a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s never just lunch.”
She picked up the chip. Weighed it in her palm like it had weight. It didn’t. But it meant something. She slid it into her coat pocket. Not acceptance. Not refusal, just delay. The meat was cold now. She ate anyway.