It wasn’t listed with the street level establishments. After several minutes of searching on my PID, I located the bar’s address. It took a few more to pull up directions.
I walked through a park. Children sat around an old Druid who was telling stories in a crackly voice. As irritating as it would be to an adult, the kids seemed enthralled by his tone. Adults wandered along the flower beds. It was a peaceful scene and no one seemed to be upset with the Druid orator.
Beyond the park, a set of rusty steps carried me to a level beneath the street. Here electronic delivery carts moved from loading dock to loading dock, dropping off goods for the businesses above. It made sense for deliveries to be made around the clock as trade went on around the clock. While up on street level, it was a shopper’s and merchant’s dream, below was a foul and dirty nightmare.
I located the Breached Plate.
I wasn’t sure what business resided about the bar. Maybe a service establishment such as a massage parlor, a barber shop or some service not requiring the delivery of goods. Given that, it retained the loading dock ramp. I trudged up the ramp after dodging delivery carts, puddles of oil and heaps of garbage. It seems trash collection was on a less then around the clock schedule.
The loading dock doors of the Breached Plate were rolled up and someone had installed a facade under them. A wall of ship’s plating complete with gashes filled the space under the door. They replicated ruptures as if the skin of a space vessel had blown out from an explosion. For a man who spent most of his adult life in space, it was an unnerving reminder of the frailty of a ship’s skin.
In the center of the metal plating someone had used a blow torch on the alloy to create a doorway. Rustic, I thought as I pushed through the burnt edges and emerged into a small round room lit with a flashing emergency light. Again, unnerving, the same flashing light would be used to alert a space’s crew of a breach in their ship. I deduced from all this where the name came from, the Breached Plate.
I further figured the Breached Plate wasn’t even connected to a meal served on a dinner plate. The other side of the round anteroom had an air lock door. Heavy insulation circled the door and I pushed hard as I would on a ship. It swung free easily and slammed into the wall with a loud clang.
I heard a few men laughing before my eyes adjusted from the flashing lights.
“First time at the Breached Plate?” a gravelly voice asked.
“Aye, pretty obvious,” I replied pointing to the slamming door’s location.
“Yup, lets me know if you’re a tourist or a space man,” he said laughing, “Tourists meekly, if they aren’t run off by the lighting, and space men always push an air lock hard. No damage down.”
“I’m Oscar,” I said as I reached the bar, “Ale?”
“Bulan, proprietor of the Breached Plate Pub and Lounge,” he said pulling a draft and as he set it in front of me added, “Fresh off a ship?”
“Yes, been looking for a quiet place to have a drink,” I said between sips.
“You’ve found it, well mostly, a few groups have meetings here so it’s not always quiet,” he said.
“Seems nice enough,” I said sliding the empty glass across the alloy bar top, “Pour me another. What kinds of meetings?”
“Unions and fraternal orders, that sort of gatherings,” he replied, “Mostly guys. Getting to the Breached Plate isn’t easy or pleasant. So, how did you find it?”
While Bulan’s demeanor was personable, his eyes shifted and the set of his shoulders was hunched. The man’s outward appearance was kindly but there was something hard and secretive under it. His conversation up till now was light but the last question was a probe.
“Tadhg, engineer on the Clipper Uno Shoda, suggested it,” I lied.
I thought if anyone shipping to Construction Station had been to the Breached Plate, it would be Ide Tadhg. He’d been to more bars in more places than the saltiest Marine.
“Ide, yup, he’s a good engineer,” Bulan replied, “How’s his brother Bobby?”
“Only one brother I know of and his name’s Brentley,” I said successfully dodging another of his probes, “Ide doesn’t talk much about his current condition.”
Bulan nodded and went to check on his other customers. While he was away, the air lock door swung slowly open.
The man who entered was short and rotund. In fact, he was pear shaped and stood only about half the height of the air lock door. Air lock doors because they needed to hold pressure aren’t very high. He waddled in and selected a chair at a table. I imagined seeing him climb up a bar stool would be entertaining and that’s why he avoided them.
“Gennaro. The usual?” Bulan asked as he passed the man on his way to deliver refills to his customers.
“Certainly, thank you my good man. Ah, and I’ll need your fine establishment for a couple of meetings,” the man called Gennaro said.
I saw Bulan scowl, shrug and finely asked, “All right, when?”
“After shift for Brown and the same for Orange,” Gennaro replied, “Our brothers need our help and the Congress is just the organization to aid them. Our brothers are in a struggle and results are required.”
Bulan said, “Alright, alright, save it for your meetings.”
But, Gennaro wasn’t speaking to the bar owner, his last few sentences were directed at the table with the other customers.
Bulan returned to the bar, poured a glass of water then pulled a bottle from a cabinet. He pulled the stopper, produced a large eye dropper and filled it. Carefully, he put six drops into the water and stowed the bottle. The drink prepared, he carried it to Gennaro.
“Specialty drink?” I asked nodding towards the fat man.
We watched as Gennaro swirled the water in his glass. His eyes glistening as the clear liquids blended and his lips alternating between a purse and a grin, he appeared to be a man who relished his specialty drinks.
“Must be, taste terrible if you ask me,” Bulan answered, “He showed up about three months ago and brought the bottle. After drilling me, a bartender for ten years, on how to prepare his elixir, he was satisfied and it’s all he ever orders.”
“Good business for you, him renting the lounge for his meetings?” I said.
“Not half bad as he pays in Pesetas,” Bulan replied with a grin, “I bought this place after my accident on my last cruise. They were supposed to create an entertainment district down here. It never happened. So here I sit on the Breached Plate, serving the occasional drink and listening to organizations platter on about how they’re helping their members.”
“Never been much of a joiner myself,” I said, “What’s his group called?”
“Congress of Galactic, something, I can’t remember,” Bulan admitted, “I don’t pay attention to any of their chatter.”
I paid my bill, noted the time of Gennaro’s next meeting and left the Breached Plate. On the sub deck, things hadn’t improved and it was a relief when I arrived at the park. The old Druid was telling a story to a different group of kids while adults were still wandering the gardens.
The Hotel Imperial had the same exterior on the Brown side as I’d seen when I check in from the Orange side. In my room, I stretched out on the bed and fell asleep.
Chapter 20
There were groups of Brown suited workers in front and behind me as I descended to the lower level. They, like me, entered the Breached Plate. Inside the furniture was rearranged. The tables had been shove against the walls except for one. The lone table was centered in the room and had one chair. I didn’t see Gennaro but two men had two tables turned so they could see the center table. Every time a worker attempted to sit at one of those tables, the seated men shoed them away. I selected a bar stool.
“So you decided to come to the meeting?” Bulan asked as he placed an ale in front of me.
“Cheap entertainment,” I replied.
“Better than that,” he said with a sly smile, “Free drinks during the meeting.”
I starte
d to say something but was interrupted by the air lock door slamming into the wall. All eyes turned to the entrance.
“Ah, what the hell?” Gennaro announced pointing back at the offending door, “Proprietor, you should hire a worker to fix that door. Anyone here know a good worker?”
There were a few good natured jests from the crowded bar.
“Of course you do,” the fat man said as he walked to the lone table, “I know some great workers. As a matter of fact, I see a room full of the best craftsmen in the Galactic Workers Realm. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
Again some of the attendees shouted barbs but most simply nodded. Gennaro after a staged entrance, a short speech and a shorter walk had all eyes in the room focused on him.
He walked around the table. He circled it again this time focusing on the lone chair.
“What’s this?” he asked pointing dramatically to the chair, “I get a chair when all I do is talk? Here, give it to a worker.”
He grabbed the chair and slid it towards a standing group. They jostled over it until an older woman claimed the chair.
“Is that better?” he asked the lady while walking to her, “It should be better. It should be better for all the operators in the Galactic Workers Realm. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
I noticed that while Gennaro had given up his chair, the two men at the empty tables hadn’t allowed anyone to sit with them.
Placing one small, stumpy hand on the newly seated woman’s shoulder, Gennaro shot the other into the air.
“Did you get your free drinks?” he asked the room while waving the arm around, “After a hard, dangerous shift, a worker should have a glass of refreshment. Adult beverages for everyone. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
Bulan was suddenly deluged with orders. Everyone rushed the bar. While the beverages were served, Gennaro, hands clasped behind his back, wandered the room smiling and nodding. When he reached the tables with the single occupants, he leaned down and spoke to each. Then he meandered away.
The men reached under their chairs and pulled out computers. After placing them on the tables, they keyed in something then leaned back.
“Everybody have a refreshment?” Gennaro asked loudly.
Of course Bulan hadn’t had time to fill all the orders as Gennaro could clearly see.
“If they had more workers in this establishment,” the orator said, “Everyone would be better off. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
Everyone nodded, even the ones at the bar waiting for their drinks.
“Speaking of better off, better working conditions,” he said raising both hands above his head and pointed at the ceiling, “Safer conditions and longer breaks on the construction decks. We need a better working environment. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
Mummers arose from the group. They were warming up to his rhetoric. The flow of his words delivered with confidence combined with the drinks created a group think. And, Gennaro was clearly in charge of the thinking.
“Oh, excuse me,” he said, “I felt I was among friends and failed to introduce myself. Hello, my name is Gennaro. But, we are friends. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
Now the men and women in the room were with him and they shouted their agreement. “You are right! You are right!” I noticed that the two men sitting by themselves began the response. It was a nicely orchestrated chant, response, and the crowd quickly learned it.
“Why am I here? Why do I care about your working conditions?” Gennaro asked, “Because I care, my family struggled for years in jobs that were hard. Hard on the body, leaving no time for their families. Just like you. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
“You are right! You are right!” most of the crowd responded.
“So I came here to represent workers,” he shouted, “To represent you. But I can’t do it along. No, oh, no, I can’t do it along. I need your backing to help you. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
“You are right! You are right! You are right!” now all of the workers through themselves into the response.
“But we can’t do it alone,” he said before the shouting had completely die down, “We need the backing of all the mechanics in the Galactic Workers Realm. We need a Congress of workers, Realm wide. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
“You are right! You are right! You are right!” came back the response.
“So workers have banned together under the banner of the Congress for Galactic Wrongs Righted,” his voice raising, resulting in the mummer of the group raising with him, “Wrongs Righted by a Congress of Workers. Workers just like you and you and you and you. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
“You are right! You are right! You are right!” the response rolled off the walls and the crowd was throwing their arms in the air.
Gennaro stood still his arms out stretches as if to embarrass the group. He stood until the shouting die down then slowly turned his palms outward.
Like a beggar pleading for a hand out, he continued, “But we need you to join us. We don’t ask much, but we’ll give you our best, in strength of numbers, we’ll change your life for the better. More time with your family, safer working conditions, longer breaks, we’ll do this together. Together we can make it better. Am I right? I am, don’t you agree?”
“You are right! You are right! You are right!” the response was loud and the crowd was feeding off the energy which required another round, “You are right! You are right! You are right!”
Gennaro stood with his head bowed as if he were embarrassed by the reaction. He let the group burn for a while before raising his eyes and reveling the tears.
“I thank you fellow workers,” he said softly, “Those who see the value in our struggle, please see the brothers at the tables for more information.”
The men at the tables were standing and leading the applause. Between claps, they beckoned to the crowd to come and have a seat. Lines began to form at the empty tables.
“One other issue, my friends,” Gennaro said his eyes surprisingly dry, “Have any of you been arrested and suffered the indignity of trial by Druid? If so, come join me in the corner.”
I looked at the corner indicated and saw three tables arraigned in a U shape. This had taken place while Gennaro was speaking. So, he had other accomplishes in the crowd besides the two men at the tables. I couldn’t tell if Gennaro was a con man or a union organizer, both used plants to pump up a crowd’s reaction.
I decided I’d suffered the indignity of trial by Druid. After all, I’d once been a Sergeant in the Marine Corps only a few years from retirement and I’d been a Druid candidate. Both ended with indignity by Druid, so I qualified.
“Brothers and Sisters,” Gennaro spoke softly to the six of us at the tables, “the Congress for Galactic Wrongs Righted is taking special interest in the injustices vested on you by the Brown Robes. Know that we are working to remove them from the justice system. For with them, there is no true justice for the workers of the Realm.”
I slipped Bulan a tip and eased quietly out of the Breached Plate. Gennaro’s rally didn’t move me and I couldn’t see any need for action against him or his organization. Workers have a right to assemble and there’re a lot of citizens with grievances against Druids. As long as they didn’t get physical, their ideals were legal.
My only lead into the trouble between workers and Druids was the sandy haired man. I decided to stalk the streets, both Brown and Orange, in an attempt to locate him. Brown was getting dark as the artificial sun slid slowly, well it was fading. So, I slipped into a shop. If I were going to parade around the streets trying to be inconspicuous, I needed civilian camouflage. I picked up three hats with wide bills. Orange and brown for obvious reasons and one yellow hat because sometimes the best disguise was the absence of camouflage. I also picked out two types of sunglasses.
Sunglasses were in fashion on Construction Station so I wouldn’t stand out. The fad started with mechan
ics, maintenance and other workers with jobs outside the Station. Micro-gravity wreaks havoc on the eyes. Their time in space causes idiopathic intracranial hypertension and they need corrective glasses. Other people liked the look and now fashion forward folks don sunglasses to imitate those daring workers. Men and women who are literally going blind from their job, are the style leaders for the elite of Construction Station.
After making the purchases, I crossed the floor and exited into the dawn of Orange.
My patrol began at the park. I arrived while the shadows were still long. The sun rose, the shadows shrunk and along with the daylight came an old Druid.
“Brother Druid,” I said taking a seat on his bench, “I need guidance.”
“Try a psychic,” he said without looking at me.
“If I wanted a mystic, ah, look, I’m looking for a man,” I began.
“Try a gay bar,” he said.
It wasn’t as if I could drag out my Knight of the Clan gear or even the collar pin to identify me as a friend. I tried again.
“I saw a man trying to cause trouble for the Druids,” I explained, “I want to find him.”
“Looking to join his cause?” the Druid asked.
This was going nowhere fast and I was losing patience with the stubborn old Druid.
“No what I want to do with him is about the same as I want with you,” I said in exasperation.
“What would that be?” he asked.
“Pull out my Druid sticks and beat some answers out of you both,” I replied.
He stiffened at the answer. I stood, shook my head and left the park and the old Druid.
Orange was of course a mirror of Brown and I got bored after a few hours of strolling. You can only window shop for so long before everything in the windows becomes a blur. So, to break the monotony, I entered a shop, changed caps and existed to the Brown side.
I found a dark corner between street lanterns. Just as I was reaching into my plan bag, something hit me. I rolled away from the strike and came up with my Druid fighting sticks. The Knight sticks were still in the Clan strap so I was left with the blunt instruments.
Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty Page 16
