The Asteroid-6 isn’t much of a space station, as space stations go, but I call it home.  There’s twenty docking bays, a dozen cargo holds, one duty-free gift shop and a little supper club where I spend most of my time, because that’s where I’m usually needed – and also, I don’t have an office.  Besides I like the club’s name – Deep Space Noir.  The proprietor is a sleazy merengay named Fork.  With a smile and a wink, he’ll take you for everything you’ve got and then sell it right back to you for more than it’s worth.  But then again, so would a lot of others in the place.   Yeah, this is a tough place to be, particularly when you spend your nights mopping up the proverbial floor of the collective conscience.  Then again, in space it’s always night.