The Red Star Tavern was affiliated with the Red Star Machine Factory.
Most shops here belonged to various state-owned factories. The situation was simple: a single factory had over a hundred thousand employees, keeping its director run off his feet. In name, he was a factory director; in practice, he was little different from a village chief.
Employee housing had to be arranged, along with landscaping, commissars' offices, social areas, and the construction of affiliated hospitals and schools.
And so the tavern had taken on the important duty of matchmaking, opening near the factory grounds.
Posing as an immigrant from another planet, the travel-worn Inquisitor walked into the tavern. He wore a brown jacket and a cowboy hat, with a short knife tucked into his belt, looking like someone fresh off a desert world.
The moment he pushed open the tavern door, lively lighting greeted his eyes. An enormous red-star lampshade covered almost half the ceiling, and clean glasses polished to a shine hung upside down from racks. The rich aroma of liquor began to invade his nostrils, before the creak of a moving mechanical arm drew his attention back.
The Inquisitor immediately felt that things did not bode well. Most people here wore work uniforms, and even the few in casual clothes were sturdy workers off their shifts.
"Oh-ho-ho! Welcome, traveler from afar." The bartender, cleaner, mixologist, and deputy director of the Employee Social Club smiled at the Inquisitor while polishing a glass.
His left arm was entirely mechanical, which was precisely why he did a little "post-retirement" work here.
"Hello. I just arrived. Give me something local." The Inquisitor looked around for a while, then sat at a stretch of bar with no one on either side.
"How about a Martini? It's a strong drink specially mixed to