“Spengler, you’re on me”, you say having decided that Spengler is the man you want watching your back.
The two of you stand in the back of the ship as the cargo ramp whines open. The hot humid air of Hector-Prime fills the hold. Spengler is wearing a heavy leather trench coat to hide the light assault rifle he decided to take along. You are wearing a civilian coverall, with you Gauss pistol strapped to your belt.
You smell spices and food, their odour drifting up from the street bazaars. You also smell the distinct odour of Silk.
As you leave the ship, you see a bar at the opposite end of the strip of launch pads. A wooden carved sign reads ‘The Jungle Room’.
“Let’s check that place out”, you say to Spengler and the two of you make your way over. Having an Orion Commando at you back, does put you at ease. Knowing that Spengler could single-handedly clear out the bar if he has to, is good to know.
Checking your watch, which is connected to the ship’s central computer, you press the ‘Local Time’ button.
“Ten forty five a.m. and the bar is in full swing”, you say with a smile. “These are party-people.”
Spengler doesn’t comment as the two of you walk in through the saloon -style swing doors. The inside is dark and a thick could of smoke hangs under the ceiling. A number of scruffy characters dot the tables. The bar is hot and the smell of many years of spilled drinks and stale alcohol fills your nostrils.
In the far corner you see an Ar-Kwan alien sitting in one of the corners.
(A large and usually peaceful specimen, the Ar-Kwan originates from uncharted space beyond the outer rim. Having found the human occupied reaches of the Universe in complete disarray and saturated with war, they showed no interest in further interaction with humans.
Their bodies resemble the humanoid shape, but their faces look reptilian. Their hides are formed by layers of scales making them very resilient to high temperatures. As with earthly reptilians, they also don’t cope with cold temperatures very well. When amongst humans, they also dress typical humanoid garbs, but it is said that they have no need for clothing when on their home planet.
Except for a small number that trade and travel in human occupied space, they are for the most part, rarely seen.)
In the background, a lazy tune contributes to the laid-back, if somewhat ominous feeling in the bar.
“Two of those”, you say walking up to the counter, pointing at the house brew. The fat, bald bar tender expertly grabs two glasses and fills them with green liquid from the ‘house’ vat.
“You sure about this”, Spengler asks nodding at the drinks.
“We gotta blend in if we want to get a feel for the place”, you say easily.
“Bottoms up”, you say and take a big swing. The bitter green liquid is cool and strangely refreshing. After more than three days of battle stress on the America, you don’t see anything wrong with a tiny bit of R&R while still doing your job.
Within a few seconds, you feel the buzz of the ‘house brew’.
“What’s on your mind?” you ask Spengler, seeing that he hasn’t touched his drink.
“Well, if it’s Pylene we’re after, I’m thinking we should talk to the Ar-Kwan”, he replies. “The only reason he can be here is for trading – he’s definitely not a tourist. And seeing that he’s a trader, he will have some connections for getting Pylene.”
“What about the barman”, you ask.
“I suppose”, Spengler says scanning the bar with his steely eyes.
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