George Dorn sat at the bar in Finn's Wake, and chatted idly with the freckle-faced barmaid who for some odd reason was paying him some attention.
"So yeah, we have to cart this fool H-fuel we "liberate" in Gallia somewhere, luv. You're the closest base that offers a half-decent price for it."
"So, why ye think they're carrying H-fuel in Gallia then, Cap'n? Doesn't make sense.. I heard their ships burn bloody kerosene or sommat.."
"Search me, darlin'," said George. Why do they carry Silver, or Niobium, or Pharmaceuticals, when they don't even manufacture the stuff up there."
George drank deeply, and rather unsteadily held his mug out to the young lady for a refill.
"And another thing that bothers me.. You Gaians and the Outcasts are supposedly sworn enemies as I recall, yet up near the Lewis hole in Orkney, you never see those Gaian Eagles mixing it up with the Outcast patrols.
"The more I see of Gallia, the more confused I get!" continued George. "Including trying to figure out why a bunch of ex-Zoners are flying for the Maquis and Council... That bloody Malaclypse seems more interested in dumping Scrubbies on Planet Vienne than he is spanking the Royal Navy."
The barmaid just shook her head as she handed George another stout. "What's tem folk say is the answer to everything, love? 'Five Tons of Flax!' This one's on me hon."