A Hacker Gunship finishes docking with the station as a lone figure steps out of the vessel. He is wearing black robes that covers his body and leave his face in shadow. He walks towards the bar entering it and taking a seat in the far corner trying his best to avoid any unwanted attention to himself. As a waiter approaches him he asks for a glass of water in a deep raspy voice. As he sits there with his water he watches the other guests in the pub.
Having just finished a guard shift over the base, several crewman of the Zoner cruiser Vor'cha entered the bar and went to a table in the far corner away from others. Matok, visibly angry, made his way to the bar. The bartender knew him well and greeted him in his native tongue.
"Neq'neh, Matok," he said to him. Matok never had to tell him what he wanted, the bartender knew and handed him a tall glass full of a reddish fluid.
Matok was in his traditional duty uniform. Scaled body armor adorned him with a cape and jewelled band ran diagonal over his chest. He was a large....humanoid...and no one dare try taking his menacing looking sidearm or the battleknife he kept at his side. His ridged head, full beard and mustache made him look even more angry.
He noticed the man in the other far corner. Wanting solitude of his own, he did nothing more than a quick glance to be aware of his surroundings and joined the other 3 officers of his crew. Still angry from being insulted by a Naval officer, the men sat and muttered over the subject in their native tongue.
The man in the cloak eyes the large man for a moment studying him and his officers. He takes another sip of his water before resting back in his chair. A shady and dirty looking man enters the pub as he approaches the cloaked man. He nods at him and sits next to him.
"The supplies will be sent soon, where did you say you wanted them again?"
The cloaked man sighed as he looked around for any eavesdroppers, "Take the shipment to Omicron Theta, their are many there that require it."
The man nodded, "And you'll leave me be if I send the supplies?"
The cloaked man nodded. "So long as the supplies get their your debt is paid."
The man nodded again and quickly left.
A tall man, with brown hair, brighter skin and a partially scarred face steps onto the bar of Bethlehem station, it seems as if he just woke up. He walks towards one of the free tables, sits down and waits for the bartender. While he waits, he takes a small personal computer out of his pocket and starts doing something on it, then reading from it.
The bartender soon arrives. "What would you like, mr. Irden?", the bartender asks the man, and the man answers him, "I told you, you could call me Helmut. Otherwise...", he chuckles, sighs, and continues, "... I'd like coffee, thanks.", he smiles. The bartender leaves for a moment, returning in a few minutes with a coffee and a bill, "It'll be 2 credits. You sure like your 2 credit coffee here, Helmut.", the bartender chuckles.
Helmut answers, "Heh, it's good and it wakes me up, I always like your coffee. Thanks, friend.". They both smile and say farewell to each other. Helmut then slowly drinks his morning coffee, reading news from his computer and looking at people gathered in the bar, their faces.
The bespectacled girl entered the station via a docking tube from a shuttle. She took a moment to admire the heavily modified Argus class exploration cruiser sitting outside the station, something the Zoners had bough from the IMG in the time before the nomads, and before the outcast were such a threat to the IMG as they were today.
Walking along she entered the stations bar, a few patrons who were new to the station stared at her wondering what a child was doing in the bar, alone. The smarter ones figured that messing with a child on a Zoner station would be the height of idiocy, especially if that child was a Zoner herself. Those that had been around Bethlehem station however.... those knew better... and watched out of the corner of their eyes with amusement as she walked up to an indi pirate that had just landed, after shooting randomly at people outside the station. The man was angry and getting angrier by the moment as the bar's staff ignored him.
The girl walked behind him and tapped him on his shoulder. Hello she said.
Wot the hell da ye want, girlie. Yer a mite small for mah tastes.
The man didn't notice the anticipated hush that fell over the bar, however even if he had, it was far... far... too late.
I'm afraid we have a problem she continued, in her quiet voice. you see..... you blatantly violated the stations no fire zone.
And wot the hell does that matter, 'lil girl. Run off to mommy before I decide you're not too small for me.
Ah... I see. You don't realize how much trouble you're in. Allow me to explain. I am Captain Kashiwaba Tomoe of the Zoner Exploration Cruiser Hinaichago. And you, sir, are dead.
Before he could react, she pulled out a small but nasty looking pistol. A slight hum indicating a electromaticly propelled projectile was heard, and the large man looked down at his stomach.
A small dart was stuck in it.
Wot in the hell di..... The man's question cut off as he collapsed. And the screaming started.
No dobut you are quite confused. My ships Physician. Dr. Phineas Waldorf Steel, is also a pre-eminent genetic scientist. The part of this that is relevant to your situation is quite simple. he created a simple non communicable RNA transmitted retrovirus that causes several things to happen.
The first is paralysis. The second is the heightening of the pain centers of the body. The third is death, as the pain cortex of your brain literally overloads and destroys the rest of your brain. It does not immediately kill you, however you are essentially braindead at that point. If you're lucky, this will happen before you are tossed out of the airlock with the garbage aimed at the planet below. Explosive depressurization is painful enough without the enhancements that you are currently undergoing. Good day sir.
The bar's regulars resumed their conversations, some chuckling at the little girl that wasn't and her latest kill.
A man, calling a business partner on his neural net bracer:
"Life's too hectic around here, you know? In other parts of the sector, you actually get decent pay for difficult and dangerous work. Here, the silver, copper and platnium fields have dried up, and are controlled by pirate gangs. At least we've managed to stay under the radar so to speak. DSE hasn't begun hassling us; I don't think they have noticed our mining ship.
It's not worth it, staying in Liberty. The operation is not pulling any major profits; we're going to shift elsewhere. We don't know where yet, but anywhere is better than here at the moment."