Kevin Ragg was waiting at the bottom of the service lift, which led from Bay 227 to the peripheral promenade like a spoke to the outer rim of a wheel.  Gravity was provided on the station by the centrifugal force of a continuous rotation.  Ragg was wearing a khaki uniform with the shiny appointments that proclaimed him a lieutenant of Polkbridge Security.  He raised a hand in greeting as Bruce Copetski emerged from the lift and strode toward him smiling.  Bacchus wheeled along behind him on a tripod of large rubberized bearings, one of several modes of mobility the robot used as the occasion warranted.  Bru’s bags were clutched in two articulated claws at the ends of piston-like arms.

            I’m here to check your weapons, old man,” Ragg said as they shook hands.  “Loose cannons like you aren’t to be trusted among civilized people.”  He grinned, not able to keep a straight face.  He knew very well Bru Copetski never carried a firearm.

            “Yeah, I’m dangerous all right,” Bru rejoined airily.  “Right now I feel like killing several shots of Smirnoff’s—that is, if my favorite barmeister has restocked since we cleaned him out two months ago.”  As they turned toward the commercial districts, Bru’s eye tried to read Ragg’s mood and mannerisms.  He still wasn’t convinced that serendipity alone explained Kevin’s presence in the command center when he’d called for docking data.

            “Oh, Papa Poole is ready for you, Bru-ski.  And his daughter still asks for you from time to time, too.”  This with a friendly wink that made Bru cringe.

            “Don’t remind me.  Can’t she take a hint?  Even after an evening of shots, that woman still refuses to look any more attractive.”  Bru stepped up to a com-column and inserted the key tag that hung from a tab on his flight jacket.  A small viewplate on the column rose slowly to match his eye level and receive a retinal scan.  A second later, he was reading an updated report on his station credit account, which told him a sad enough story that he could only barely conceal his dismay.