Nizar Vao

Capusleer's Log, Supplemental:

I got off the shuttle around midnight and no one spoke as I crossed the docks to the terminal.

The air was thick and hot, like wandering into a steam bath. Inside, people hugged each other and shook hands...big grins and a whoop here and there: "By God! You old bastard! Good to see you, boy! Damn good...and I mean it!"

In the air-conditioned capsuleers lounge I met a man from Rens who said his name was something or other--"but just call me Corbin Cross"--and he was here to get it on. "I'm ready for anything, by God! Anything at all! Use to play Blitz Ball before my knee went! Yeehaw! Yeah, what are you drinkin?"

I ordered a Margarita, laced with liquid DMT, and ice, but he wouldn't hear of it: "Naw, naw...what the hell kind of drink is that for the Goonwaffe corporate retreat? What's wrong with you, boy?"

He grinned and winked at the bartender. "Goddam, we gotta educate this boy. Get him some good whiskey..."

I shrugged. "Okay, a double Old Fitz and ayahuasca on ice."

Corbin nodded his approval. "Look."

He tapped me on the arm to make sure I was listening. "I know this Goonwaffe crowd, I come here every year, and let me tell you one thing I've learned--this is no town to be giving people the impression you're some kind of faggot. Not in public, anyway. Shit, they'll roll you in a minute, knock you in the head and take every goddam ISK you have."

I thanked him and fitted a death stick into my holder. "Say," he said, "you look like you might be in the geology business...am I right?"

"No," I said. "I'm a photographer."

"Oh yeah?" He eyed my ragged leather bag with new interest. "Is that what you got there--cameras? Who you work for?"

"Hustler," I said... as the ayahuasca kicked in...