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A little light conspiracy (Open)

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Unit 47-42

Coalition Victory Station, Kestevan 79


Almost every place where starfaring races gathered you’d find a bar like this tucked away where only those in the know would find it. Not the brawl ridden bars where crew who’s spent day or weeks in space could go to let off a little steam but somewhere where those who were a little different could find some company, if not there own species than someone who could understand. Bipedal Carbon based sapients may be the norm, and just as many theories why they did, but others sentients were out there and many liked to gather to share gossip and find company with a drink of something equivalent to alcohol, and for that many went to places like 47-42.


Tucked away in the lower depths of the station the bar was a pretty non descript place,easy to miss if you didn’t know of it’s existence, and almost as plain on the inside consisting of just reconfigurable benches and chairs around rather basic holo tables. The bar with similarly rather basic the only bartender being a retired medical droid, 4T-RN, who could tell which drink each customers could safely drink without harming themselves. The only entertainment was a band who only seemed to know one song, but they played it with some gusto.


The place was almost totally unknown to the dominant species of the station, not that the few that knew of the place was unwelcome.

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Sitara had over her many millennia of travel come across many places like 47-42 and liked to track them down whenever she stayed for long in one place. Not only were the inhabitants fascinating and often friend people, as interested in bipedal carbon based creature as they were in them, they were often a good way of sensing the general mood of a place often picking up things that the more common humanoids in their comfortable masses tended to miss.


Today she was here to see Theorem to recheck something that she’d, and the Praetorians as a whole, suspected for a little while. Theorem was a sentient mathematical theory, who looked a little like a bubble chamber mixed with a mandelbrot set. Sitara had met one of Theorems species long ago, or maybe even Theorem you didn’t ask a sapient there age, and she knew none better at analysing a complicated set of data for possible patterns. Theorem seemed to feed on the chaos inherent of any set of data until only a pattern remained.


As Sitara finished her drink Theorem was explaining the findings, in there rather discordant voice of digital sounds, what they thought the data contained and it was much as Sitara had suspected.


It was why she’d been subtly reaching out to everyone she knew inviting them to this place to compare notes and see if anyone knew for sure that someone was apparently planning something big, and probably not something good.

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The doors of 47-42 opened again, pushed open by an oversize grey hand, four fingers, arranged around the hand in a triangle. Following the hand was a body, grey skinned and wearing white armor, almost 9 feet in height. Even at a place like this, that height was not too common, and it took some careful movements to get through the doors and inside.


It was Kresh Melek, the Praetorian known as Barrier. She was fully equipped, the armor covering her torso and bracelets brightly polished. Her full helmet was completely obscuring the face. Her shield, her main piece of equipment, was in its usual position, mounted on her back, not quite reaching the floor. Her slow steps brought her towards the bar, where she ended up ordering a drink, looking around the bar in the meantime. Her head looked into the direction of her colleague Sitara for a bit longer than the others, to make sure she, who had invited her here, was aware of her arrival.


During her travels before rejoining with the Praetorians, Kresh had visited many establishments like this one. Most major cities had one or two, they usually looked similar, and usually shared one thing, and that was an abundance of information. It was useful if one was looking for somebody, and she had spent a lot of time talking with people. She had never visited 47-42 before, but if etiquette was even remotely similar to that in similar establishments, standing at the bar was completely acceptable.

Edited by olopi
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"Gimme a synth beer. Trivolian" sighed Starshot. 


The foamy orange brew was a poor substitute for the German beers of his youth. But it was the best he could get. And frankly, he didn't care, right now, if it was shaken or stirred. 


The last trip had ended almost as badly as it could get. Some wealthy Lor holiday maker had got trampled by a lumbering, tusked elephant like creature with hide as thick as Starshot had seen. 


Not my fault. He told himself. The idiot had been too bold, too confident. 


The ivory had fetched a price, at least. He could probably cover the almost inevitable litigation. 


Now, he wanted a little piece of oblivion. Dressed in a khaki tank top, his blond hair swept back, a healing wound on his back. The criss cross scars over his left side, strongest down his arm, on display. Despite the scar or two on his face, he was a handsome man, with cut features. And, courtesy of some genetic modifications, his physique was impressive, like a snake on steroids. 


He fancied some company, of the female sort. Not particularly a lovers embrace, but some eyes to drown in, some soft poetic words to here, some fascination. The bar was noisy, he was tired, and he was not, by his own estimation, switched on. Not alert. He didn't want to be, either. 


He had heard of the Praetorians, of course. He had ears, he travelled a lot. But damned if he would recognise them; not today. Not in a little bar, not when his mind was elsewhere...


The giantess...well, might have been interesting. But after the trampling, he didn't like the association. But...


"Whose the lady with the beautiful brown eyes?" he asked the robot bartender, giving a nod of his head to the Praetorian, Sitara Shashikala...

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