"Man, I really hate refueling on corporate stations," Jerome grumbled as he paid the ship docking fees to the automated attendant. He was old-school former corporate military and wasn't used to dealing with the same
Willowby Station #14 was just another cookie cutter pit-stop along the Magnus route out of the Outer Systems. It was owned by a franchisee of the Willowby Foodservice megacorporation, an Old Earth era fast food giant that set its sights on having a piece of the fortune to be made in space. They still sold their tasteless cheeseburgers and soggy fries at the space station cantinas but they also offered other things for the desperate spacers like reactor fuel, basic repair work and cheap armaments. The wage slaves that worked alongside the bots on the station were dull-eyed and overworked, they put in long hours for just enough pay to cover their food and housing on the station.
"Well, but there isn't another place to refuel the Badger within our limited flight range," I replied to my grumpy crewmate, "that's the price of having a cheap military surplus dropship as our main means of transportation. These things weren't meant to hop between star systems for long journeys; just in and out of atmosphere to drop off the troops and armor."
The large man just shrugged his broad shoulders and pointed at the brightly painted mural of the corporate mascot "Willy the Clown" on the wall of the docking bay. The cartoon clown was dressed in a white and red flight suit and wore a thin red-lipped smirk, but the smile didn't reach its eyes at all. Willy looked like a predator waiting for the right time to strike and just pretending to be a happy clown that hawks burgers and fries to the masses.
"That fucking clown creeps me out, just something wrong with the damn thing." Jerome admitted as we walked to the cantina for a cold beer and maybe a greasy cheeseburger or two.
