The swinging doors of the Last Chance Saloon creak on their hinges as Captain Vance Renshaw and John Smith step over the worn threshold. The bar — a dingy den festooned with relics of a wilder past — hums with the low murmur of conversations from the assorted clientele. Neon signs buzz overhead, clashing with the rustic décor, casting garish colors over patrons’ faces. While the stench of fertilizer still makes its way into this tavern it competes with the aroma of spilled beer.
"Reminds me of MaliDen's Quarry without the pretense," John mutters, scanning the room through narrow eyes.
"Or the opulence," Vance adds, his boots thudding against the wooden floor, a smirk playing beneath his beard. "There she is."
At a corner table, nursing a murky looking bottle of what passed for beer in these parts, sits a petite green skinned woman. Her flight jacket, adorned with patches from her Nara service days, lay across the back of her chair like a silent testament to her history.
"Looks can be deceiving," Vance said, appreciative of her compact stature which belies the vaunted prowess of Nara’s green skinned soldiers.
"Or perfectly informative," John counters dryly.
But before Vance and John even start to saunter over to the table with their security candidate, three burly men approach her table, their intentions written plainly on their scowling faces. The smallest of them, a brute with scars crisscrossing his forehead, leans forward placing a hand on the table between them, his words slurred but threatening.
"Hey, little soldier girl, you sitting all alone?" he sneers.
The woman, sounding as if she is verging on boredom, replies, "Not looking for company."
"Too bad," growls another man as he lunges around the table to try and grab her arm.
But before he could even make contact, the green skinned woman springs into action. In a blur of movement too swift for the untrained eye to follow, she kicks the heavy table over with her feet causing three noteworthy things to happen almost simultaneously. First the top of the table smashes into the face of the smaller man that had dared to lean across it. There was an audible crunching noise as his nose broke and at least two of his teeth cracked under the impact. He crumpled to the floor, blood gushing from his broken face.
Second, the edge of the table caught the bottom edge of her bottle causing it to break, while the neck of the bottle remained in the green-skinned woman’s hand creating a makeshift shiv.
Third, due to the weight of the heavy table when considered against the weight of the petite looking woman and her chair she slid backwards. This motion causes her attacker's clumsy attempt to grab her to miss completely. As the woman jumped out of her chair, she stomps down hard on the back of his knee with enough force to either break or dislocate it. The man let out a pained grunt, but fear kept him from screaming as she used the hand not holding the makeshift weapon to grab his hair and jerk his head backwards. Then she roughly places the jagged edge of the beer bottle against his throat pressing it against his skin till beads of blood began to well up.
With one man on the floor with a broken nose and missing teeth, and another with a busted knee being held up by his hair while a jagged piece of glass is pressed against his throat, the third man quickly comes to his senses, suddenly seeming a lot less inebriated. He looks at his two injured friends and then at the green-skinned woman who had just effortlessly taken them both down in seconds. Now that the woman is standing, his eyes flick down and he notices that she never even drew the blaster in her thigh holster or the combat knife in her leg holster.
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"I'm really sorry these two bothered you. I think I'll just see myself out of the bar," he mutters before turning and briskly walking away, wanting no further part in this confrontation.
"Anyone else?" the woman shouts, her voice dripping with menace as she forcefully shoves the man she was still holding onto down to the ground.
The entire bar falls silent as the door swings shut behind the last potential aggressor, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing and shattered glass in its wake.
"She’s fun, can we keep her?" John loudly asks Vance while smiling.
"So, Ms Xandros, may we formally offer you the security job we contacted you about?" Vance asks as he slowly closes the distance between them.
"Security job?" Cally's voice held a hint of skepticism and mild interest as she sized up Vance Renshaw from her spot in the bar. Her gaze narrows in on him as she analyzes his every move. She casually tosses a broken bottle onto a nearby table with a loud clattering sound, never taking her eyes off of the captain.
"You two are the ones who pinged me on the ansible?" Cally asks, her tone more curious than suspicious.
"Guilty as charged," Vance admits with an easy smile, although his sharp eyes betrayed a hint of calculation. He confidently approaches the table, followed by John Smith whose hands are tucked into the pockets of his utilitarian gray jumpsuit.
"Stellar Horizon's our ship," John adds nonchalantly, but his gray eyes gleamed with intelligence that miss nothing. "We need someone who can handle trouble... and it seems like you've got a talent for that."
"Trouble is one way to put it," Cally remarks dryly as she grabs her flight jacket from the back of the chair she had previously been sitting in. With a fluid motion, she pulls it over her shoulders, briefly revealing the barcode tattoo on the back of her neck before it was hidden again. "Your offer... decent pay, I assume?"
"Competitive," Vance assures her smoothly. "With benefits that include seeing the stars, dodging a few bullets, and maybe even getting into a bar brawl or two."
Cally couldn't help but snort a laugh at his words, a brief smirk playing across her lips. "What's the catch? You two don't seem like your average freighter jockeys."
"Let's just say we travel extensively," Vance lowers his voice, hinting at something more dangerous. "Beyond Cosinda's politics and all the way to the edges of The Freed People's territories. We've got a knack for finding ourselves in the thick of it."
Cally couldn't deny that the offer sounded tempting, her own adventurous spirit catching fire at the challenge in Vance's words plus it was a chance to move on from this dung scented planet. "Sounds like a decent gig," she concedes. "I'm in. When do I start?"
"Immediately," John chimes in enthusiastically. "Our ship is docked at a nearby cargo port."
With a nod, Cally's dark green eyes briefly drifted off into memory before snapping back to the present. "I've already got all my gear packed in a nearby locker. I'll meet you there."
"You must travel light," Vance observes with curiosity.
"It's a habit I picked up during my time in the service," Cally replies with a hint of mystery as she grasps Vance's outstretched hand and shakes it firmly.
Vance briefly turns towards John, "Make sure to give the barkeep some hard coins to forget about us being here."
He then turns back to their newest crew member, a warm smile on his face. "Welcome aboard, Caleope Xandros," he declares as they begin making their way towards the exit.
"Everyone I like is allowed to call me Cally," Cally interjected with a playful wink.
"You can call me Vance, and that guy goes by John," Vance replies with a chuckle.
As they step outside, the trio is met with the gentle glow of distant stars and the promise of adventure ahead.