★ Evelyn ★

  On the Europa Station’s merchant level—the lowest floor with unrestricted public access, directly beneath the shuttle bay—a cramped corridor that had come to be known as “The Alley” wound through an assortment of shops, restaurants, and cheap hotels that had sprung up to fill the demands of tourists thanks to the Station’s growing role as a travel hub.

  These businesses, although not originally included in the floor plan, moved in almost immediately following the Europa Station’s commission and, over time, filled a niche that organically evolved to serve the needs of travelers. The Corps had adapted, and at the urging of the Gray family elected not to evict these newfound entrepreneurs, but rather started charging them rent. These now-legitimized ventures entered into contracts and abided by a loose set of guidelines, but otherwise were not beholden to or affiliated with the Space Corps in any way. While they shared a somewhat symbiotic connection, the two rarely mingled, and senior command went out of their way to make the distinction abundantly clear.

  Wealthy donors and guests on official Corps business had access to the hospitality floor—an entire wing featuring a spacious hotel, luxurious amenities, fine dining, and a private atrium with unrestricted views of space. They need not know The Alley even existed. Every now and then some lower-ranking service members might wander down to take a look around, but this was mostly due to boredom.

  The front of The Alley held typical tourist fare—dining, lounges, souvenir shops, and the like—but the further down the corridor one went, the less refined it got. If someone was of a mind to gamble away their whole paycheck or drink themselves to sleep at a bar, they could, and indeed, many of the contract workers who found themselves stuck at Europa due to long layovers and ever-changing shuttle schedules chose to do so.

  The back hallways were reserved for things the Corps preferred to remain hidden. The money from these businesses was as good as any, but due to the “potentially damaging” nature of their image they weren’t allowed to advertise and were kept out of view of casual passers-by. All of their business came from word of mouth.

  Those who’d become familiar faces back there were a varied sort. Some were criminals, some were making their fortune, and some were just passing through. But one of them was Evelyn McNeill.

  Evelyn had gotten a rough start to life, as had most who found themselves there. Her mother had died when she was young, and her father, a transient laborer who bounced between various asteroid mining operations, threw her out the moment she was grown enough to fend for herself.

  “Too many mouths to feed,” said the man who’d shown no restraint in creating them. She was the fourth of his nine children.

  She’d been expecting it; her three older siblings had been subject to the same. She’d watched it happen, and she knew her turn was coming.

  And so, just like there had been a new baby every other year for the first decade or so of her life, there was also a new vacancy as they disappeared one by one.

  She’d been prepared, and when her time came, she knew exactly where to go.

  In Europa Station’s back alley, there was always a demand for certain types of work. She could’ve been an innkeeper or a bartender, but the dancers on stage at the Ice Palace, an ironically named neon-clad establishment that was as frozen as it was regal, made three times the money with half the hours. Business was steady, and their door was always open, especially to young women who had nowhere else to go.

  She knew all of this thanks to her older sister, who’d worked there for a few months. Her sister had eventually moved on, but they’d been good to her—good enough, anyway.

  So when her father told her to leave, Evelyn packed up all of her meager belongings and went to Europa, where she was met with open arms, a hot meal, and a place to sleep.

  That was five years ago, and she’d done quite well for herself.

  It couldn’t last forever, though, she knew. This career, if one could call it that, spit girls out just as quickly as it took them in. Not only that, but her employer demanded an allotment of her tips, and they always seemed to take more than they were supposed to. It was “a cost of doing business,” and she knew there would be no recourse.

  This wasn’t much of a problem, though, because she’d found other ways to supplement her income. There were certain customers who would pay a hefty sum for any information she could pass along to them, be it trite gossip, military matters, or the private dealings of corporations—knowledge gleaned from words that flew a bit too loudly between cramped tables after too many drinks. Evelyn always listened, and more importantly, she remembered. And every few weeks, the same man came back and asked her some questions. She repeated what she’d heard, and each time she was paid with a piece of solid gold.

  She didn’t know who he was, and she didn’t care. She didn’t plan on staying here any longer than she had to, and his patronage moved her goal of being free from this place forward by several years.

  Those gold coins, along with the portion of her earnings she was allowed to keep, remained tucked away beneath a loose panel in her bedroom floor where it was safe from the prying eyes of management, and more importantly, safe from the other girls.

  Each time she walked across her room, the worn, rusted panels creaked, and she smiled when she heard the sound. It was a gentle chime counting down the days until she could leave. She didn’t know how much longer it would be, but she was sure she’d recognize the moment when it was upon her.

  ? ? ? ? ?

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The evening shift of December 28th, 2086, began the same as any other. The Ice Palace opened, the bar sat ready, and the dancers lounged about waiting for customers. And Evelyn took her mental notes, counting as always.

  In came the first.

  Space Corps uniform. Lower enlisted. He’s young—probably fresh out of boot camp. Guaranteed to drink too much and try to start a fight.

  In came the second.

  Already drunk when he walked in the door. Did the same thing last week. A better place might escort him out and refuse service, but not this one. He’ll pass out at the bar.

  In came the third.

  Got a wife and kids somewhere. Even showed me pictures one time. Complains about never seeing them, but spends most of his time here.

  In came the fourth.

  Nice watch. Cheap suit. Probably a lower-level mining executive passing through on a business trip. He’ll stay for an hour, and he’ll never be back.

  In came the fifth. A regular. Evelyn didn’t make any notes about this one, because she didn’t need to. The manager’s eyes told her everything she needed to know as he looked him up and down, then walked over to the bartender and nodded in his direction. “Make sure he pays this time,” she read the words on his lips.

  In came the sixth.

  A woman. Comes in every few months. Keeps to herself. Works on a mining rig somewhere, if the boots are any indication. Probably on leave and her shuttle was delayed.

  But then, in came the seventh, and Evelyn frowned.

  This one was different.

  He walked in, sat at a table by himself, and looked around the room. His gaze passed over everyone there in much the same way hers did, taking in the details and making the same notes.

  Custom suit. Too nice for this place. Not military. Not a miner. Not a businessman.

  He seemed as if he was looking for someone. As he scanned the room, their eyes met, and he quickly averted his gaze, instead turning his focus to the bar and motioning as if to order a drink.

  Evelyn’s frown deepened. He looked very out of place, and something about him didn’t sit right with her.

  As she studied him, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a loosely rolled cigarette, and lit it, watching as small ribbons of smoke curled from the end.

  “No smoking in here!” A voice bellowed from the far side of the room.

  All of them—dancers and patrons alike—turned to see the bouncer, a portly man named Lucius Drake, rising gingerly from his chair.

  Drake had been a professional fighter during his prime, working the illegal boxing circuit that had sprung up throughout the colonies, but a knee injury had put a premature end to his career. Still, though, his semi-permanent frown and stocky build presented an imposing figure indeed, and most patrons understood that it would be in their best interest to heed his instructions.

  The man stared at him, cigarette still smoldering in his hand, with an expression that was equal parts annoyed and condescending. But then he smiled ever so slightly, nodded, and dropped it into a nearby glass, where it flickered out with an undistinguished hiss.

  “My apologies,” he said.

  Drake nodded and sat back down.

  Evelyn studied the man again, more closely this time. He had an air of shrewd intelligence hanging about him like a cloud, with ego and arrogance to match.

  And yet, he seemed nervous. He was poised on the edge of his seat, leg bouncing as he alternated between studying the floor and surveying the room.

  This was a man with something to hide.

  A few minutes went by, and his drink arrived, but he didn’t seem interested in it; Evelyn could tell by the way he smiled politely at the waitress who brought it to his table, then pushed it aside the moment she walked away.

  Evelyn busied herself with the patrons and tried to go about her business, but cast a glance in his direction every so often. Each time she looked, he’d barely moved. He sipped his drink, ordered a second one, watched the stage, and seemed apathetic toward all of it.

  She kept up her usual routine, but the man’s presence cast a shadow over the evening. She wasn’t the only one to notice, either—halfway through the night, Drake walked by and tapped her on the shoulder. She looked at him, and he nodded at the hallway.

  “You got a minute?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Good. Let’s step out for a second.”

  Evelyn stood up wordlessly and followed as he turned around and walked off.

  As a long-time employee and the sole member of their in-house security, Drake had endeared himself to both management and staff alike. The majority of his job consisted of ejecting non-paying patrons and breaking up fistfights, but he had a sharp eye and a quick reaction time, and he looked out for his coworkers. Patrons sometimes mistook him for a common thug, and he certainly looked the part, but he was smarter than most and kinder too, so the girls trusted him.

  They made their way to the side entrance, then ducked behind the curtain separating the bar from the darkened hallway leading to the back.

  “You know that man out there?” Drake asked, nodding toward the main seating area.

  He didn’t specify which man, but Evelyn knew exactly who he was talking about.

  She shook her head. “Never seen him before in my life.”

  “Well, he just asked for a private dance, and he specifically requested you. Mentioned you by name.”

  Her blood ran cold and she froze momentarily, but quickly composed herself. “That’s fine.”

  Drake stared at her. “Somethin' ain’t right. He don’t belong.”

  Evelyn hesitated and glanced at the other room. “He looks the type to leave a hefty tip.”

  “He looks the type to do a hell of a lot more than that. I deal with scum all day, but this?” Drake nodded down the hall. “That’s a rich man who thinks he can get away with anything, and he’s probably right. That’s a different beast entirely—one I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to protect you from.”

  Evelyn took a shaky breath. “I’m not worried. There’s cameras in the rooms.”

  “He’s gonna ask you to go off-site. I guarantee it.”

  She shot him a look. “Do you think I’d fall for that? Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried. I know better.”

  “This is different. He’s gonna offer you a large amount of money. I know that every now and then some drunk man comes staggering in here promising the world and offering to whisk you away somewhere, but he looks like the type who can actually make good on it.” He sighed. “For everything this place is, you’re safe here. You won’t be if you go with him.”

  “I know.”

  He met her eyes, and there was a hint of desperation in his tone. “I don’t care what he promises. Don’t do it.”

  Evelyn nodded. “I can handle myself.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He glanced down the hall again. “Alright, then. Holler if you need me.”