The call ends. Sebastian’s peaceful mindset follows suit. The noise of the street becomes disjointed and cacophonous. It’s overwhelming. Sebastian braves the flow of oncoming foot traffic, weaving around and occasionally pausing his pace. The awkward navigation is draining. After almost twenty minutes of walking, Sebastian needs a break. Despite Polard’s insistence, Sebastian is in no rush to get back to The Mare. He looks around for the nearest sitting area. Almost immediately, he spots the bright teal signage of a Stubb’s café.
Stubb’s Coffee is an uber-popular café chain that was first established on the Moon. As the Lunar Federation’s colonies on Earth grew, naturally, Stubb’s followed. These cafés were once quaint establishments housed in Old World-style brick buildings. The modern Stubb’s Cafe is more akin to a social hub. They’re housed in large multi-story buildings with several bay door entrances and an open layout that creates a welcoming vibe, inviting all to enter—and to spend.
Sebastian walks into the café. He is cursorily greeted by several busy baristas. He makes his way to the second floor and has no issue finding an open seat near a window. He sets his bag down and observes the busy street below. From a distance, the foot traffic appears to flow naturally. He enjoys this perceived peace for a few minutes. His eyes catch colorful reflections on the window. He turns to face the direction of their source and finds the menu, brightly displayed across three large screens. Flashy graphics entice the eyes as coordinated color theory conducts a subconscious transaction with the mind.
He returns to his seat with a nitro crema lavender spice oat latte. He takes a sip and begins people-watching as he slowly makes his way through his drink. The table next to him gradually fills with a group of colonists. Sebastian can’t help but listen-in on their conversation. They all seem to know one another, greeting each other and exchanging short anecdotes that all center around work life within their shared employer; Polaris Heavy Industries. Naturally, after the pleasantries are finished, the Earth Restoration’s attack becomes the main topic of conversation:
"I’ve been hearing rumors that Refraction is in trouble." A colonist says.
"Well, of course they are. The Windward region relies on their materials contracts to get by." Says another. "If the union’s targeting mines, imagine how many hours are getting stripped for security sweeps."
"Refraction’s gonna be fine. It’s the smaller colonies around it that are gonna suffer. Starsieg’s been ruthless with their layoffs lately."
"Screw Starsieg." Another colonist remarks.
"Yeah."
"Well, then Vento’s done for. There’s no recovering from that."
"Yup. Another victim of the Iridescence."
"That’s the third one in a decade. It’s insane how many rings have been collapsing."
"Yeah. It hasn’t been this bad since the uprising."
"All this shit with the Prosperity union hasn’t been helping either. I can’t believe they were working with terrorists this whole time!"
"A damn shame is what it is. Un-bee-leev-uh-bul!"
"I quit this morning."
"Same. I heard the union plaza’s filled with protestors."
"Has anyone ever unionized against a union?"
The colonists share a laugh.
"Do you really think a labor union blew up that mine?" A raspy voice from the far end of the table speaks up.
All of the colonists stop talking and look over. At the furthest corner of the table, a worn-down elderly man sits alone, quietly sipping a cup of black coffee. He wears an old brown military jacket over a faded red spacer jumpsuit. Atop his head is a leather flat cap which he has tucked low so that it obscures his eyes. He does not appear to be a part of the colonist gathering—he was likely the first person to sit at the table.
"Huh. So, then… who did, old man?" A colonist asks skeptically.
The old man clears his throat.
"It sure as hell wasn’t the organization trying to protect your rights, I’ll tell ya that for free." He says.
"Well, there’s some pretty damning evidence that shows the contrary, my friend." A colonist says.
"What evidence?" The old man asks.
"The footage of the wreckage, you rambling fool!" Another colonist pipes up.
The rest of the colonists laugh.
"But did any of you see footage of the attack itself?" The old man asks.
"Well…" One colonist starts, then falls silent.
Nobody else speaks up. No one seems to have an answer.
"Did you know that Prosperity union was the largest opposition to some mandatory military service act?" The old man asks. "The Vanguard must be real happy to see them run out of town."
He takes a long sip from his coffee. The whole table remains quiet. A palpable nervous energy fills the room. A colonist from the back of the group discreetly slips away and makes her way to a nearby hallway. The old man clocks this sneaky behavior and pulls the brim of his hat lower.
"What happened in Vento was a tragedy. This ain’t the time to be making up conspiracies." A colonist says.
"It ain’t the time to be making no jokes either. But that didn’t stop any of y’all," The old man sighs. "Look, all I’m saying is that it’s mighty strange for this trade union to sabotage its own reputation like this—especially since they’re such a rare breed these days. There aren’t many people concerned with the wellbeing of others anymore."
"Alright. Here comes the rant about the good old days…." A colonist jabs.
The table erupts with laughter, though it feels somewhat forced to cover up the tension that has been building.
"Everyone’s got an agenda, old man. The nicest faces can hide the worst intentions." A colonist waxes philosophical.
The old man cackles loudly, smiling for the first time. It seems to extinguish the laughter from the colonists around him.
"You’ve said it better than I ever could have. So elegant, yet so blind…" The old man stands to his feet.
Sebastian sees that the old man’s right leg is prosthetic from the knee down—a sturdy steel appendage painted with a worn coat of yellow. He makes his way towards the nearest elevator. The colonists immediately start insulting the old man as soon as he’s out of earshot. Sebastian returns his mind to his own business. Taking his time to finish his over-sweetened latte and listen to the calming pop-jazz that plays from every speaker. Large displays play Comet at a volume loud enough to be heard throughout the entire hub. Crowds of customers gather around the screens, transfixed on the current story:
"Trade negotiations with the Martian ambassador are currently underway in the Lunar capital of Mare Crisium. This critical meeting could decide the fate of the solar system’s peace…" The Comet anchor reads.
Upon hearing the words ‘Mare Crisium’, Sebastian stands to his feet. Right now, the last thing he wants to think about is his home. He decides to take his coffee outside.
…
He finds brief respite amongst the cafe’s outdoor seating. He sits at a tiny black metal table, within a large, crowded courtyard of similar tables; the last one available, positioned on the edge. He enjoys a bit more people-watching, until he finds that it isn’t so enjoyable. The dense foot traffic is frustrating to watch. Across the street, the old man from before stands on the sidewalk, leaning his weight on his prosthetic leg. He stares into the raging torrent of the passing crowd, looking for an opportunity to enter.
He takes a couple steps forward, but his uneven gait is too slow to get him into the opening he had spotted. He looks frustrated. Then, he quickly looks up towards a murder of crows perched atop a nearby roof. He shakes his head at them, then slips into the passing crowd without an issue. There has been a peculiar oddity about this old man, but before Sebastian can ruminate on it any further, his concentration is broken by the roar of a ship launching overhead. He stares up as it ascends into the atmosphere. This time, he finds no inspiration within the blaze of the ship’s afterburners. Instead, he finds himself covering his ears to protect them from the loud sound. It’s been almost half an hour since Polard’s call. Sebastian decides that he should get going.