A Voice From the Future

Sometimes, the loneliness doesn’t bother me.

Sometimes, it does.

This isn’t one of those nights, though. The sky is clear, and I’m away from the city lights. I can see the stars, feel the breeze untouched by pollution – it’s nice. For once, I think I might sleep through the night. At least, I will after I watch the stars awhile longer.

It’s really nice out here. I need to go into the city tomorrow, but if I can find enough supplies and the weather holds out, I’ll skip on a hostel room. I’ll just come back out here. It’ll save some creds, at least.

I’ll do what I can to make a little money while I’m there. I’m sure there will be plenty of rubes to hustle.

**

The club district was hopping as usual. He weaved his way through the crowd, picking a pocket here, scanning an account chip there (and emptying the unlucky victim’s account in seconds) until he knew he’d made enough to at least get a drink or six. A game or two of old-fashioned poker, and he’d have enough to get a room for a few nights before he moved on.

He paid the bouncer at the first club that didn’t have a long line to get in and went inside. Weird place; all black inside and out save for the multi-colored flashing lights on the dance floor. What were obviously drug deals were going on in the corner booths; he avoided those tables. It wasn’t that he disapproved; he’d done his share growing up, but one swindler didn’t intrude on the territory of another. It was an unspoken law, but one he never broke.

And he never, ever, hustled a dealer.

He worked his way to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender, dressed in a black robe with the hood covering his face, slid a bottle to him.

“Start a tab, traveler?” the bartender asked, his voice barely audible over the thumping pile of noise that passed for music.

“No.” He slid the bartender a few extra credit chips. If the drunks playing darts in the corner were the betting type, he’d make his money back and then some before he left.