Bentham made his way to the bar, having dragged himself from his ship. The flight from Freeport 11 was a long one, the encounter he had along the way was still playing in his mind.
"He said 'You humans' and he didn't know what junk was... Definitely not one for the Junkers then. But, he called himself Fred. Now... an alien called Fred?" He couldn't make heads nor tails of the whole thing. The most important this was, he felt, getting a drink. Bentham had made a pretty penny selling some scrap to the Corsairs; he was now looking to liquidise his assets.
The barman sauntered over. Bentham raised a hand, "Got any of that Rheinbier?" He took his drink to a table and let out a sigh...