A rundown 'drift' station, located at the border of the Terran Grand Republic's sphere of control and the start of the Outer Colonies freedom and independence; the station was one of the first to be constructed along the border, meant be a rest and refuelling point for starships travelling between the regions. Over the years it has changed hands many times, sometimes for the better, sometimes not, so it now a mishmash of a station with odd additions here and there, housing merchants that cater to whatever needs a weary Spacer has.
The most famous of all these add-on was the 'Warden?s Tooth', a seedy bar housed in the bow section of an old GRN cruiser that had been added to the station a little over a century ago. Most business on the station was conducted there, partially because it boasted a wide array of intoxicants, and partially because it had a few secure VIP sections for meetings. The dim light room was filled with people of all shapes and sizes, most were human, but there were a few aliens mixed in with the crowd, as waitresses went around, filling out orders or getting another round. At the counter a robotic bartender was making another drink for a human, who already seemed to be quite drunk.
Vid screen displays were dotted about, playing different things; some patrons watching the screens had headsets so they could listen without being disturbed by the music in the background, while others just stared at the images. Most screens were displaying sports, both human and non-human, such as the Shuttle Racing League, while a few were showing the local galactic news.
A patron lurched to his feet with a loud yell. "FUCKING HELL, lost AGAIN!" He was watching the SRL, and the last race had just finished. The broadcast showed the winner, ?Blue Hawk?, who was waving to the crowd as he took a victory lap; nearby the news broadcast was running the lead story about how a luxury cruise liner had still not made port, and was now three days overdue. The liner had had roughly 500,000 passengers on board, and there were concerns that it had been attacked by pirates.
On second floor was the VIP section. There were ten different rooms, each large enough to fit at least fifteen people. Some were in use, while others were still open. A sign flicked above one of the occupied rooms. "Merc ship looking for crew. Pay depends on jobs taken."
---
Inside said room, was Rick Walker, Captain of an old goods hauler named ?Sweet Child of Mine?. He also ran the Outer Ring Initiative Operations Network, or ORION, Company; a small mercenary that plied its trade anywhere across known space. In his hands was a bottle of ale as he sat comfortably in his seat;
Beside him was the Sweety?s Chief Engineer, and paranoid junker, Pit. He was a little over five feet tall, and wore a dark brown robe over his black spacesuit. His helmet was solid with cameras mounted to provide vision, and completely hide his face; the helmet also scrambled his voice so it sounds like a bunch of nonsense, only someone with the right descrambler frequency could understand what he was saying.
Pit looked over at Walker. "Ez cha sah cah Ca Ma Kamak." Walker sighed and took a swish of his ale, before setting the bottle down. "Anyone would be better then the last crew..."
The most famous of all these add-on was the 'Warden?s Tooth', a seedy bar housed in the bow section of an old GRN cruiser that had been added to the station a little over a century ago. Most business on the station was conducted there, partially because it boasted a wide array of intoxicants, and partially because it had a few secure VIP sections for meetings. The dim light room was filled with people of all shapes and sizes, most were human, but there were a few aliens mixed in with the crowd, as waitresses went around, filling out orders or getting another round. At the counter a robotic bartender was making another drink for a human, who already seemed to be quite drunk.
Vid screen displays were dotted about, playing different things; some patrons watching the screens had headsets so they could listen without being disturbed by the music in the background, while others just stared at the images. Most screens were displaying sports, both human and non-human, such as the Shuttle Racing League, while a few were showing the local galactic news.
A patron lurched to his feet with a loud yell. "FUCKING HELL, lost AGAIN!" He was watching the SRL, and the last race had just finished. The broadcast showed the winner, ?Blue Hawk?, who was waving to the crowd as he took a victory lap; nearby the news broadcast was running the lead story about how a luxury cruise liner had still not made port, and was now three days overdue. The liner had had roughly 500,000 passengers on board, and there were concerns that it had been attacked by pirates.
On second floor was the VIP section. There were ten different rooms, each large enough to fit at least fifteen people. Some were in use, while others were still open. A sign flicked above one of the occupied rooms. "Merc ship looking for crew. Pay depends on jobs taken."
---
Inside said room, was Rick Walker, Captain of an old goods hauler named ?Sweet Child of Mine?. He also ran the Outer Ring Initiative Operations Network, or ORION, Company; a small mercenary that plied its trade anywhere across known space. In his hands was a bottle of ale as he sat comfortably in his seat;
Beside him was the Sweety?s Chief Engineer, and paranoid junker, Pit. He was a little over five feet tall, and wore a dark brown robe over his black spacesuit. His helmet was solid with cameras mounted to provide vision, and completely hide his face; the helmet also scrambled his voice so it sounds like a bunch of nonsense, only someone with the right descrambler frequency could understand what he was saying.
Pit looked over at Walker. "Ez cha sah cah Ca Ma Kamak." Walker sighed and took a swish of his ale, before setting the bottle down. "Anyone would be better then the last crew..."