There were dive bars aplenty on Luna's Sea of Tranquility, beneath the domed cities of the Moon. Grungy and dilapidated buildings made with criminally expensive wood imported from Earth, and painstakingly crafted by criminally well-paid artisans to look the part of seedy taverns and near-bankrupt pubs.

Amidst this tranquil sea of phoney authenticity, lay the Neatly Wettish Liquor Pub and Brewery. It was a concrete and rock square set in the middle of a forest of mutilated trees, a square of authenticity sticking out in a line of shallow imitation — like a single construction worker in a line of hipsters waiting for worker benefits. And unlike every building around it, the Neatly Wettish Liquor had thick observation windows and airtight walls. It was built to seal itself, in case the dome above cracked.

Because unlike every other pub and bar around, its owner felt it was cheaper to build to-code, rather than bribe the local building inspectors.

The thought brought the ghost of a smile to Martin's lips as he walked across the street towards it. It was hard to imagine his former boss, the current owner and bartender, paying for a bribe in anything other than bullets. Or grenades. Rockets. The pointy end of a knife. Honestly, the more Martin thought about it, the more he was convinced Lanval Adams might rig fusion rockets onto an asteroid and steer it onto someone's home rather than paying a bribe. Even if the man was now exorbitantly wealthy.

The bar's heavy steel doors parted with a happy whir and an enthusiastic waft of wind, as if the building itself was eager to admit him inside. Which was normal for a place hoping to take your money. Martin stepped through and stopped in front of another set of steel doors, which waited for the ones behind him to shut before he stepped through.

The bar itself was poorly lit, in the way Marin swore was the only legal lighting for a bar. So dim you could barely see to the back wall, and the few patrons sitting at the tables were only silhouettes. The only well-lit part was the bar itself, where a tall man with greying hair and a fedora was polishing a glass.

The sight might have been remarkably innocuous, but the shelf behind him ruined the effect. Where there was normally a few shelves lined with eccentric varieties of expensive forms of alcohol, Lanval Adams had a gun rack.

An extensive gun rack. The wall was fully consumed by an intimidating assortment of armaments, arrayed assiduously in a such a way that every single gun was in easy reach for the bartender.

"Martin," Lanval said, and pointed to the stool just across the bar from where he worked.

Lanval Adams was the king of subtext. He was astonishingly eloquent when it came to the things he would say without actually saying them. For instance, his greeting alone managed to say 'sit down and shut up, I have something important to tell you'. His hand gesture managed to imply that he also expected Martin to be quick about sitting, and that turning around and leaving the bar might get him shot.

Martin sat down at folded his hands on the bar. "I honestly didn't think I'd see you again, boss. Figured the whole crew going their separate ways after we were bought out was the end to it."

"You can't imagine that you, I, or anyone on our crew are actually done with Luca Cardego, can you?" Lanval asked.

Luca Cardego. There were a lot of stories involving that name. Most of them were about pool parties in microgravity, abs so popular women willingly did laundry on them, terraforming a world, admitting cultural refugees like steampunk enthusiasts on a private floating island, and merfolk on a moon made of water.

Only one of those stories involved Martin, when Luca Cardego was allowed to buy up the mercenary company he worked for. His share of the sale left him so wealthy his imagination couldn't find a way to spend all of it.

"Having enough money to buy my own continent feels a lot like 'I am done with anyone's shit', boss," Martin said, as Lanval took the glass in his hand and put it under one of several nearby taps.

The liquid flowing out looked a lot like sunlight.

"Australia's barely a continent, and all the other ones are too expensive," Lanval said as he watched the glass in his hands fill. "Though you might be able to buy the place I'm sending you to. Neat place, I'm told."

Martin frowned, crossed his arms, and leaned back for a moment until he remembered he was sitting on a stool. "Funny, I can't recall agreeing to anything."

"Think long and hard about that," Lanval said, with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. He set the glass down beside Martin, and leaned forward with both hands on the bar.

The glare Lanval gave was particularly eloquent. It said, "We threatened the friends of the richest man in the history of the solar system. The fact that we were screwing his adversaries over at the same time, is the only reason we're still alive and able to spend the absurd amount of money we made from that last job. And if that's bad enough, his parents used to own the company. So if Luca Cardego needs something, you'll do it. Or your extravagant retirement ends prematurely."

"Okay, boss. Who does Luca Cardego need killed?"

Lanval coughed in surprise, and then laughed. "Killed? If Luca Cardego wanted someone dead, he could just portal the poor fool into deep space, or the surface of the sun. Hell, the only reason we're alive is because Luca doesn't kill."

Martin held up his hands in resignation. "So what's the job?"

"Just a delivery. Some scientists at Neo Tokyo are expecting a package, and Luca wants someone he trusts overseeing the security detail. Apparently whatever they're transporting is one of the most dangerous things in the known universe. one of only four pieces of Unobtanium."

"Unobtanium? Like the crazy thing that made that six thousand year old vampire's castle float?" Martin asked.

"Similar. Apparently the scientists who found this stone are taking to calling it 'Chronotanium'," Lanval said.

"That is a terrible name," Martin said.

Lanval nodded, and tapped the side of the glass he had set in front of Martin. "Drink that. Tell me what you think."

Martin picked it up, and held it under his nose. It hissed and fizzled, and smelled of a subtle combination of herbs that he had no hope of identifying. His pallet barely went beyond 'meat' and 'not meat'. But the first sip took his thoughts straight back to his childhood, searching for the happiest days he could remember. Whatever he sipped tasted like all the good things he could remember growing up, like root beer floats and cinnamon toast and bubble gum and his first kiss.

He let it sit in his mouth, savouring it for a long moment, before he finally realized something. "Boss, is there any alcohol in this?"

Lanval snickered. "You remember the rules. No drinking on the job."

It took a moment for Martin to understand the implications. "Fuck," he grumbled, and took another sip.

*****

So, I'm doing something a little mad.

I've decided to enter a story I haven't started into the 2021 Wattys. It's a project I've mostly plotted out, but haven't felt the impetus to write lately. It's been a hard year.

But nothing inspires like last minute panic, and I intend to write a Wattys worthy 50k story, starting tomorrow, and hopefully finishing it in six weeks.

The project is called There Are Many Tokyos In Flower, and it's a bit of a spoof on ClarissaNorth 's lovely work, There Are Many Flowers In Tokyo.

Wish me luck.