On the way to a tea house she knew, which was divided into booths offering some privacy, Nico tried to remember more about Martin than just his name. She did not have a bad feeling about him. The occasional lance back showed he followed closely, looking bewildered, but not suspicious or hostile. Had they been close? Probably, or his name would not have come to her mind so soon.
’Station depressurised’, he’d said. A place of metal skies and filtered air, not one where rain washed dung into gutters.
After they sat at a low table, opposite each other, Martin started, “What happened? How can you be here?”
Nico cringed. “You thought I died in an explosion?”
“Yes!”
The approaching waiter did not smile as readily as usual. Maybe he didn’t like people having loud conversations in a language he did not recognise. Nico beamed at him anyway and ordered her favourite blend for both herself and her guest before turning to Martin again.
“Well, how did you get here?”
“They managed to turn the entrance into a proper door. Of a kind. At least when I left, they still had no control over where you ended up. But, well, I really wanted to get out.”
Ah. The Junkyard. A settlement built of flotsam spat out by a worldgate in the middle of outer space. An interesting place, but any place you could not leave turned depressing int he long run.
“Good thing it’s not a one-way street any more.”
“Nico, why are you evading my questions?”
She tilted her head and looked him in the eyes. “Would you like to remember how you died?”