Inga’s was officially known as The Bloody Drink. It was named during a more sanguine period in Port Authority’s history, and most people had forgotten the moniker. These days, folks just called it Inga’s, or maybe the tavern. As Donovan’s one-and-sole restaurant and bar, it served as the social center for the planet. Originally, it had been established inside a dome, but as business boomed—and with space inside the fence in PA being at a premium—Inga had excavated a large room beneath the dome. It was a mining planet after all.

Talina led the way through the tavern’s double doors and across the foyer, its duraplast floor already wet and muddy from previous customers. At the head of the steps, from old habit, she took a moment to scan the room below.

About two thirds full, the place was roaring. Word had passed that Turalon was heading for orbit. Everyone in PA who wasn’t on duty would be coming, anxious to hear the latest gossip, speculation, and news about the ship’s arrival.

Last time Turalon showed up, it had almost started a war. Who knew what this arrival might bring? A topic that preoccupied Talina’s mind from the moment Two Spot first announced it. Somewhere along the line, there had to be a reckoning for all the things Donovanians had done in their bid for survival. It wasn’t like The Corporation was just going to let bygones be bygones.

Her people, dressed in occasional coveralls but mostly wearing chamois-hide shirts or pants, or some of the locally produced claw shrub fabrics, were packed around the long chabacho-wood tables. Floppy hats hung down their backs and multicolor prism-bright quetzal-hide cloaks for protection against the rain draped their shoulders.

“Looks like it will be a lively night,” Shig noted. “Hope that Inga has that newest keg of ale ready to decant.”

As Talina started down the stairs, she called over her shoulder. “You tap a keg, Shig. It’s wine that you decant.”

“I’ve never fully understood the art and vocabulary that gives nuance to the whole world of alcohol.”

Call that an understatement.

At the bottom of the stairs, they were met by a fusillade of called questions: “What do you hear?” “When’s the ship getting here?” “We going to have to fight again?” “Who’s aboard?” And so forth.

Shig raised his hands, crying, “Hey, we don’t know yet. All Two Spot has overheard on the radio so far is that Captain Abibi has ‘Corporate bigwigs’ aboard.”

As people started to crowd around, Tal bellowed, “Sit your asses back down! We’ll give you the news when we get it. Got it? So the next asshole who gets between me and a beer, I’m whacking him up alongside the head.”