Once Dorren announces that they’re already as close as possible, I abandoned my thoughts and called Rusty back to my side, saying goodbye to my latest travel companions as I walk towards the settlement to search for the last piece I need for my interview. When I entered the town, I was greeted by a thousand different sounds coming from every direction, with all of the narrow streets that plagued the place filled with all manner of businesses and bars, where if I wanted I could find anything from electronic devices to drugs, most of which had entered in contact with aleph in one form or another. The more I explored the settlement the more I had the image of it as a colorful pseudo-bazaar, swarming with all manner of people, including deserting soldiers and a good amount of locals that had adopted the earthly ways of capitalism and sold exotic clothes and objects from all over the planet. Suddenly, I saw an unmistakable aleph signature across the walls the size of an adult bear, glowing like orange Christmas lights. When I turned the corner I saw a huge elite wardog deserter, more than 100 kilos of steel and deformed flesh accompanied by a brain almost deprived of neurons, menacing a fellow human under the scared view of some of the settlement’s inhabitants and screaming about a debt and pain with his limited vocabulary. Rusty began to get agitated and I laid my finger over my rifle’s trigger, considering for a moment to intervene and help the poor guy out, but I reasoned that attracting that kind of attention would be counterproductive, as well as conflicting with my role as a journalist, something I had to break more than enough these days. I left the conflict and kept on with my search.

After some more walking and questioning around, I managed to find the shop, a gunsmith’s business with a sign that says “Gunpowder!” atop of its door and a series of handcrafted firearms on display behind the windows, as well as information about the elaboration of custom weapons. The moment I enter, a bell rings and I’m immediately greeted by a small flying drone that shows me a holographic list of products and today’s offers in handguns and grenades, as well as a policy of no refunds.

“I’m searching for the owner”, I said to the machine, which ran into the depths of the shop and returned shortly afterward alongside a tanned man with a heavy beard and a prosthetic arm, wearing dirty clothes and a belt from which all manner of tools are hanging.

“Hello there mate”, The man greeted me with a deep voice tortured by too many cigars and alcohol, sounding similar to one of the singers in Dion’s music collection. “I’m Omar, the owner. Do you want something in particular or you’re just one of those guys that don’t stand robots?”

He talked abruptly, wasting no time in formalities and desiring to get to the point as fast as he could so he could go back to his personal troubles. I decided to indulge him and spit out my motives.

“I know you’re Lycus Dion’s favorite gunsmith and drinking buddy, and I want to meet the Raiders”

“Well, that’s certainly something I didn’t expect to hear today when I got up from bed”, the deadly craftsman said, humored at my words, something I found somewhat annoying, “Why the bloody hell do you want that? Do you think yourself as a daring a brave soldier searching for a cause to defend?”

“Nothing that interesting, just a former journalist that wants an interview”

“You see Mr. Journalist, I’m just that pale son of a bitch’s favorite craftsman, like you so eloquently put it”, Omar says with a defying smile on his face as he takes a pack of cigarettes from his trousers and picks one out, “Besides, that bastard comes and goes whenever he wants and either asks for a gun or a drink”.

“I’ve done my bit of research and know that you and Dion like to meet and gamble, and, since you like it so much, I’m betting my arm that you have a way to contact that pale son of a bitch, like you so eloquently put it”.

The gunsmith put the now lighten up cigar in his mouth and began to smoke, releasing a yellowy smoke out of his mouth, revealing that this planet’s most coveted substance was used as part of the object’s ingredients. He stayed silent for a few seconds, enjoying the tobacco’s effect on his senses before the tone of his eyes drastically changed and put a knife over the counter”

“Are you sure about that bet, boy?”, Omar said as a light fired in his pupils and his rasp voice turned into a menacing growl.

“Yes”, I answered him without taking my gaze from him and ordered Rusty to stay put, creating a tension that could be cut with a swift movement of the very same knife that the gunsmith had just pulled out. I wasn’t afraid of failing, since I had checked the information several times with different sources, yet the sight of all the weapons surrounding me made stay alert, ready to face whatever surprise that would come.

The gunsmith took the cigar out of his mouth and began to laugh uncontrollably, to the point were he began to hit the counter with one arm and hold onto his knees with the other. After he managed to calm himself to a reasonable level, he picked up his knife and shook my hand while both of us smiled. In my case, the reason for this was the sweet satisfaction of being right.

“I like you mate, you’re either smart or fucking crazy”, The man claimed as he discarded his cigar and picked another one from the pack, offering me one, “Take a fag”.

I recognized the brand as one made after our arrival on the planet and distributed by Elite Corp., made from local components and a small and controlled dose of aleph in the recipe. The product stood above all others due to this last fact, since drugs imbued with the substance could destroy a person’s nervous system or cause mutations if prepared improperly, something that was fairly common. This one, however, guaranteed the safety of the mind, as well as a temporary increase in one’s constitution without the need of an aleph infusion to the body. I accepted the gift and let the gunsmith light it, feeling how all tensions abandoned my body and my senses heightened in a pleasurable way, as well as my muscles strengthening.

“Now, let’s talk business”, I said after expelling a yellowy smoke out of my mouth, “I’m willing to pay you in gold for calling Lycus Dion and setting up a meeting”

“Fine by me, but how are you going to make them allow your demands?”, The gunsmith asked as a devilish smile adorned his face, “Come on, surprise me”.

Excited by his challenge, I grabbed my backpack and opened, searching amongst the chaos inside for Dion’s cassette and player, kept inside a case and wrapped in several layers of cloth to ensure its conservation in perfect state. When I took it out and showed it to Omar, the man became speechless for a moment after witnessing my ticket to a meeting with the Raiders.

“Holy shit”, The gunsmith said, “Is it a fake?”

“No, it’s the real one”, I proudly answered him, “Lycus Dion’s music mixtape”

“That motherfucker might just kiss you”, Omar said before taking another puff, “How did you get your hands on it?”

“Sorry, that’s off the record”, I said to him, respecting one of my profession’s obligations “Can’t reveal my sources or what they said”

“So, you’re paying right now or in instalments?”