the smuggler’s bible


Beck shoulders through the crowd and signals to the bartender for a drink. It comes in a dark glass bottle and has a pungent green bouquet. Beck suspects that it would also look green if he could see it.

“What is this? Algae base? You trying to sell me some kind lawn shake?”

The bartender smiles. “Please refreshment,” she says in (very shaky) system standard audible communication syntax.

“Okay, but what’s it made out of?”

“Delightful refreshment. Monetary compensation arriving.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Beck says, handing over his credstick. “It’s just that the stupid green stuff always tastes like old grass.”