Void-Aged Spirits Case

Six lead-foiled bottles rest in blackwood cut from trees that never saw the station where the spirits matured. Their casks spent years outside rotational gravity, vacuum-cycled behind shielding while radiation and temperature drift worked sharp mineral notes beneath the sweetness. Each seal is numbered. Each certificate has enough signatures to survive a divorce. Service begins in silence: cut the foil, turn the bottle once through local down, pour no more than a finger, and wait for the metallic scent to soften into smoke and fruit. Few buyers manage the silence. The case needs shielded storage and quarterly seal inspection; one cracked foil can turn an investment into harsh syrup. Collectors often refuse to drink the rarest bottle, then borrow against its untouched value to buy another case. Tasting societies remember generosity, but they remember fraud longer. A host who pours real void-aged stock gains a room. One who refills the bottle with station liquor may lose every room that matters.