Chapter 1

Life in the uncanny valley was hard. And if anyone knew that, it was Jules, because of his prosthetic face. The looks he got–like he had something on his face–were bad enough until he remembered that it was his face. Not something on it.

Like the woman across the corner of the bar from him. Jules had noticed her the instant she came in. Curvy, not too short, skin showing a faint genuine bronze from someone that spent time under actual sunlight. Darker freckles in a constellation across her nose. Red hair going to blond at the tips, long so it flowed down past her shoulders in straight lines. And a fringe above shapely eyebrows. He loved a good fringe. When she’d leaned on the bar to order a drink from Dixon, Jules had seen that she had killer green eyes. She wore black pants, a matching tank that showed off the muscles in her arms. Only visible tech was a discreet node behind her right ear, matte black that could have been a shadow beneath her hair if he hadn’t seen the power signature overlaid on his heads-up display.

She ordered an orange juice, took the stool as she scanned those present. He felt the intensity of her gaze on him and looked up to make eye contact. He offered a friendly tilt of his head.

She visibly recoiled, then squinted at him. It was life in the uncanny valley. His prosthetic face looked human enough, good-looking even, but then there was something about it that didn’t look quite right. It made people uneasy. Human or alien, made no difference. Everyone was uncomfortable with it. He’d be uncomfortable with it too if he had to look in a mirror, so he didn’t. And then forgot until he got that look again.

He broke eye contact with the woman and focused on his drink instead. Nonalcoholic fruit juice with ice, sugar, and bounce. He’d heard someone describe bounce as chocolate with kick once. He hadn’t ever tasted chocolate, so he didn’t know if it was a good comparison or not. He knew the important thing–bounce helped keep him sane. It kept the pain in his face to a level he could handle.

Dixon’s place had a relaxed vibe to it. The light panels on the walls and ceiling kept the place in a soft glow with a hint of pink to it. Dixon said it helped keep people calm. Jules didn’t know if that was the case or not, but fights rarely happened. The patrons appreciated the quiet atmosphere and helped keep it that way. Sometimes that meant an asshole would be offered one last drink before they went on their way. Usually that worked, with a few slurred curses on the way out.

Patrons at Dixon’s were a mix of humans and other species. It didn’t matter to anyone unless you sat on a chair recently occupied by either a retelorous (because of the spines) or a gierian (because of the slime). Dixon had a good bot crew, though that stayed busy bussing tables and cleaning up any messes whether they were biological or not.

It also wasn’t a spacer’s bar, those being located in the outer top or bottom ring. Central ring catered more to permanent residents on the station. Or those here on an extended stay like Jules.

Either way, people of any species came to Dixon’s to relax, have a bite to eat, and be able to talk to their companions without shouting. It wasn’t, though it happened from time to time, a place to go to hook up with someone. There were easier places to find companionship, a fact that suited Jules just fine. The looks aside, he could drink in peace at Dixon’s without someone asking him about his face. Or the bone spirit beads braided in his hair, marking him as a medium.

He lifted his glass and studied the sparkling blue liquid coating the ice. The blue came from the fruit. Something from a binary planet, if he remembered right. Distilled down to an extract into a mild stimulant and flavor enhancer. The bright sparks that swirled in the drink? That was the bounce, from another plant that grew in the twilight regions of a tidally locked planet around an F-type star. The two were brought together with comet ice and water, sugar extracted from an Earth plant, and all of it blended to create his drink. Something that could never have existed without the technology to travel between different stars.

Jules took a drink and held it in his mouth. The flavors crawled like electricity over his tongue. That was original equipment, unlike his face, eyes, and ears. It was one sense that he could count on matching his expectations. The fruit gave the drink a bit of tartness balanced against the sugar and the kick of the bounce. His nerves practically sang with the pleasure of it as he savored the taste. The bounce was absorbed directly into his bloodstream through his tissues and made its way to his brain by the shortest paths available. As his mind woke to the bounce, he swallowed.

It helped. His mind expanded and the pain receded in proportion. It was the one thing that worked. Nothing else the neurologists had suggested worked as well.

Dixon stopped in front of Jules, another glass in his hand. Jules looked at it, his enhanced vision identifying the contents of the glass as the same beverage he was nursing.

He looked up at Dixon. The owner and bartender of the establishment was old, human, and bald with a pronounced hook at the end of his nose. He wore his usual red shirt with black apron and pants. The lines around his pale blue eyes deepened as he put the drink down.

“From the red-haired lady across the way, as an apology for her slight, I believe,” Dixon said, his voice a quiet rasp from scarred lungs.

Dixon understood pain. It helped in his profession.

It took Jules a second to realize who Dixon meant. The woman was too attractive, her response too common, for Jules to think that much of it. He’d already dismissed it from his thoughts.

The drink forced him to look up again across the bar. She made eye contact again and this time smiled with what looked like real warmth. Her lips quirked a bit in what might signify embarrassment and apology.

Fine. Jules could take it. He touched the glass and gave her a nod to indicate his thanks.

Then he turned his attention back to his first drink. He took a bigger mouthful this time, now that he had a second drink waiting. He watched his drinking and his budget. It wouldn’t do to let either get out of hand given the irregular nature of his income.

The extra surge of bounce in his system made him feel awake and aware of everything around him. The pain faded into the background like the sound of a noisy duct. There, but you got used to it.

With the next drink, he sucked in an ice cube and let it sit icily cold against his tongue as it melted. Water billions of years old, mined from comets in the system, and then recycled through the systems and people of the station over and over again. From water back to ice and now back to water.

“I wanted to apologize for any offense,” a richly textured voice said in an accent that wasn’t a station dialect.

Jules looked up from his drink to his right. The red-haired woman perched on the stool beside him, leaning closer on the bar. There was a sort of herbal scent about her he couldn’t identify. Her intensely green eyes moved, studying his face up close.

Jules sighed. She was going to ask him about it. He shouldn’t have accepted the drink. It’d encouraged her. Made her curious.

He turned his focus back to his drink and tipped it back, swallowing instead of savoring it. He put the glass with the ice down on the bar and slid back off his stool. He caught Dixon’s eye and lifted a hand in a farewell gesture.

It was a shame to leave the other drink, but there it was.

Jules started out of the bar. His brain was already processing everyone around him, assessing them in case anyone was with the woman. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone had tried to grab him, though it was rare. Mediums were always in demand, but few people resorted to abduction.

None looked like a threat. He nodded to a couple regulars on his way out. The woman had also left the bar. His ears told him that much, and his sense of smell. She was following him out, hurrying to catch up.

He hadn’t expected that. Most people would have been offended and let him go without trouble.

If she followed him out of the bar he might have to call station police. He didn’t want to, but he wasn’t going to let her follow him home.