The place was a mess - ply wood, construction alloys neo lights and signs, both packed and semi-unpacked. The bar was just a shell of what it would become later - the Drinks were sitting in heavy industrial crates marked as "Light Arms" - Everything else was sitting inside an industrial refrigerator. A workman was sitting on top of it sipping a soda, while another was tapping a pad, adding in the new building materials - namely the sheets of gold, silver, the gemstones, the gaming machines (which sat again a wall, wrapped in plastic to protect their pristine shining surface).
Ussually the place was a ruckus of power tools, yelling, materials banging together or hitting the floor, or the roar of the new Jukebox (which was hooked up day one). But today it was quiet - the army of workman were gone, and only two stood doing inventory. A sign outside was lit, saying the place was open, and the "bartender" (ussually a work foremen) on duty counted tabs and collected credits. the place was silent as a grave.
Taking the last pull off the soda, and whiping his beaded brow with the back of his hand, the worker, a young man in his twenties who had signed up for a mining crew in O7, but found ship life not to his liking. Heavy labor was his specialty, and helping rebuild the different aspects of Freeport 1 was good pay for easy work.
"So, Sal, whats the deal with that guy?" he thumbed over to the young man who sat in the corner.
The second guy, older, heavier set, and wizened by age and years of solid work, looked up from inventory. "What? you dunno who the administrator is? Thats that Summers kid."
"Yeah...but...he's just sittin' over there...he do that often?"
"Naw...dunno really. Leave him be Kiro."
The young laborer just shrugged, pulled out a neural net pad, and began reading mail from home.
----
Dane sat in the corner, far away as he could get. He lounged back on an industrial spool frame of wrapped heavy power cable. His back to the wall, next to a slightly charred hull armor plate from a Liberty Siege Cruiser marked as the LNS Walker. A hand painted note said "Gift from The Order".
He had his guitar in hand, and for the first time, he didn't feel content. He felt tired. Worn, used up. But the emotions inside were always at full power. They swam within, making his breath ragged, and his heart shudder. His knuckles drummed against the wall as he starred for a thousand miles. The emotions in him were reaching there peak...and he had to release them...
A song came to his lips...it always that easy. Hands moved to the proper chords, and a light strumming set the melody. It was low, solemn, melancholy, but with an undercurrent of hope. It rose and fell, as the song came...quiet at first...but it picked up...
"I climbed up a mountain...and looked off the edge..."
"...at all of the lives that I never have led..."
"There was one where i stayed with you across the sea...I wonder if you still think of me..."
"I carry your image always in my head...folded and yellowed and torn at the edge..."
"...and I've looked upon it for so many years...slowly...I'm loosing your face..."
Dane let out a low breath, trying to carry the emotions out, trying to breathe them out, trying to release the pressure, in hopes that it didn't overwhelm him. He took another breath, and continued the song, this time a bit louder...