"Indeed, I work with the Guild. Perhaps we have met on the Freeport. I stop by there quite a lot," Claude said to John.
"Quite the drinking skill there," he added, "finished that in a single gulp!"
While he was finishing his sentence, a man had walked over and stabbed a knife into the table.
"Oh my!" Vincent said. "Rather dramatic, eh?"
"What's going on?" Katya said, jumping back from the violence.
* * *
Meanwhile, Lawrence, the engineer on Claude's crew, was chatting with the gold dealers. He had been looking to get enough gold to make into a present for a good friend of his. He noticed Charles Dee walk toward the area.
"Oh, hello there," he said. "You work for Gateway, don't you? I think I've seen you loading on Kensington once or twice."
John stands there, hand on table, nodding politely along with Claude. He didn't expect to be making small-talk, but he was adjusting quickly enough. Before he could respond, however, he would have to deal with the knife someone had just thrust in to the table inches from his hand.
John's eyes follow the Molly out of the room as he stands there, too practiced to be panicked, but bemused none the less, his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows somewhat contorted. After making eye contact with one of his attendants, who nods and leaves the room, he shakes his head briefly and addresses the onlookers, trying to restore calm with a flippant remark.
"Oh dear. Looks like that man forgot his knife!"
He pulls it out of the table, looking it over for a moment before walking up and handing it to the bartender, still laying on a heavy dose of insouciance.
"Say, barman, someone seems to have misplaced this. Looks unique, maybe it has some sentimental value for the owner. You should probably keep hold of it in case he wants it back."
His performance was almost over now; he just had to act like nothing had happened.
"So...Claude, was it? Sorry about that. Where were we?"
"Hmmm, that fellow seems to have a dislike for you," Claude said to John as he returned from the bar. "What did you do to upset him so?"
Claude sat back in his chair and took a sip of his drink and set it on the table in front of him. He listened to the general commotion of the room a minute before turning back to his new acquaintance.
Charles Dee shaked the engineer's hand. "Hello, Lawrence. I'm the Director of Trade Operations for Gateway Interstellar - a big job, but I get through it. What brings you to the Hood? You're looking for gold? Well, you're certainly in the right room" he chuckled. "Mind if I ask about this friend of yours?"
"I'm army," John started, almost apologetically, "B A F. To keep up appearances, you know. Second sons join the army and all that. Putting in a few years before I go back to Cambridge for a piece of the family pie, as it were."
John looks over to the empty doorway once more, sucking air in through his teeth. "I guess word got out about me. Or perhaps he even recognises me, but I doubt that."
"But enough about me, right? What about you? Are you here for the races?"
An exhausted Corsair enters. He narrowly escaped some Mollys and took refuge on the hood. He ordered a drink and sat sullenly in the far Southwest corner.
James cursed under his breath as her entered the bar. That damn Corsair got away from him once, but not again. He ducked his huge frame under the door and peered around the bar, looking for his catch. After not finding him James lumbered up to the bar and took his usual seat, with his usual drinks... one of everything. As he downed the drinks one after another he got a strange feeling he was being watched. James spun his massive bulk around on the chair and sure enough a tired, frightened little 'sair was staring up at him.
"There you are my wee little matey!" He yelled sarcasticly, "when you took off runnin from me Ah was sorely dissapointed."
He picked the man up by his shirt and shook him roughly.
"Yew hearin me mate!? SORELY DISSAPOINTED!"
Nobody, especially a Corsair, made James Whipperwill this angry and got out with no broken bones, James threw the man into the door like a ragdoll and came stalking towards him like a grizzley bearing down on its prey.
"Yeh can call it guilty by association if'ns ye like, but either way, your about to get whats coming to teh lot of you! All down on your wee little 'ead."
James set upon the man, pummeling him over and over. But with a burst of despiration the man took flight and ran for his ship. Jumping in, the man flew from the docking bay like a madman, knocking over crates and tables in his erratic flightpath.
"And stay out you filthy trash heap..."
James returned to finish his drinks.
Some say that he is allergic to a fungus found only between the toes of Corsairs,
and that he is oblivious to 98% of Liberty Law. All we know is... He's called the Busdriver!
Isaac casually noted the sudden silence that heralded the entrance of the Corsair "Oh, dear," he sighed, "looks like trouble." Such men would not find many friendly faces on the Hood, between Mollys, Bretonians and miners whose operations had been interrupted once too often.
Indeed, his suspicions were soon realised with the entrance of the large, loud man, who seemed to make a beeline for the Corsair. Hardly anyone so much raised a finger as he flew across the room-one or two Mollys erupted into applause has he smashed into the door, half-stunned, and laughter pursued him as he ran for his ship.
As the large man returned to his drinks, Ryan appeared behind the counter and gave him a long, stern look "Did you really have to chuck him at my door? Takes a lot to repair things like that, you know..."
Suddenly the doors of the bar are thrown wide open, and a dozen or so men in smart if slightly faded Bretonian Armed Forces uniforms walk in in an orderly group. At their front is a tall, immaculate looking man with the insignia of a BAF Admiral. Silence falls across the bar as heads turn. The IMG security guards tense visibly. The Admiral's eyes scan the room with a calculating expression, taking in the scene and noting carefully the group of mollies and the slightly drunk Colonial Officer now slumped over a table in the corner. He turned to his men and silently gestured, directing them to sit at a large, empty table against the far wall of the bar. As the crewmen took their seats, the Admiral and a second officer in a Commander's uniform walked stiffly across the silent room to the bar. After another quick glance around, he spoke clearly to the barman and to the room at large,
"Myself and the crew of the HMS Vanguard are seeking rest and refreshment whilst we await the refuelling of our ship. Her fuel tanks were ruptured by mines while on patrol north of here, we should be ready to depart within a couple of hours at the latest. I assure you my men shall be civil, we want no trouble here."
Normal conversation slowly resumed, with a few people muttering to one another their recognition of Admiral Sir Stanley Nelson. He added more quietly to the barman, "My men shall have a dozen half-pints of ale, you are not to serve them more should they ask. I want them sober by the time we fly again. Oh, and a pot of tea for myself and some tonic water for the Commander here."
The two senior officers took a small table a little way apart from the 12 crewmen and sat, awaiting their drinks. Nelson recognised the Gateway Trade Director and offered a brief nod of acknowledgement. As the drinks arrived, he poured himself a pot of tea, noticing that some of the mollies remained fixed, staring at him. His face remained impassive as he took a sip. He knew that anyone would be mad to try and start a fight now, but he remained wary nonetheless. Looking up, he suddenly spotted John Richards, surrupticiously sitting at a table with some miners, dressed in a suit. Frowning, Nelson sent the Commander, James Cromwell to bring him over. Cromwell returned, with the reluctant Richards following behind. Nelson leant across to speak to him.