[b]Benson, Epsilon Sub Sector, Disputed Space
[/b]
Toehold

Kyra slipped back into the bar, feeling the wash of auras play across her as she entered the darkened interior. Smoke from dozens of cigarettes and more exotic delivery mechanisms hung in air like a cloud tinged with neon accents from the signs. In one corner a group of men were playing a game on an ancient holographic table. It was something like cykari though the flickering holographic heads made it hard to tell from this distance. Kyra was dressed in a suit of synthetic leather like those worn by the auto gangs that made the slums of Toehold a dangerous place by night. The garment hugged her skin without being uncomfortable. A belt was slung across her hips at a jaunty angle though she didn’t have a gun to make the look complete. Her hair had been blacked with cheap dye to eliminate her more distinctive blond locks. 

Augustine was sitting in a corner booth nursing a drink and she slid in beside him waving a hand to the tattooed bartender for a drink when he looked up at her. The man pumped a few fingers of amber liquid into a none to clean glass, poured in some ice and sent it her way by sliding it down the bar with the ease of long practice. She stopped the smoothly gliding tumbler, and flicked a credit disc back along in a near perfect reciprocal. 

“For my friend too and keep them coming,” she called. The bartender caught the disc and touched it to his forehead in salute before making the thing plastic credit marker vanish into a pocket. Kyra took a pouch from her belt and slid it across to the man. He opened it with a finger, took in the pile of credit chips and tucked it into his jacket.

“The good news is it is easy to find someone willing to buy a stolen truck and a couple of stolen carbines,” she said, taking a sip of the drink. Whiskey was available in most bars Kyra had visited across the galaxy, though exactly what they meant by the term varied considerably. Judging by the ethanol burn, this was an industrial alcohol cut with water and a dash of flavoring agent. 

“The bad news is I couldn’t find any captain willing to lift us out of this hole. I did speak to one who said he would, but I got the impression that he was just angling to rob us,” she told Augustine. It had been much the same story in  Port Carolus, though she had hoped it was just because they were closer to where they had made their escape.

“Someone really doesn't want us to get off this rock,” she went on, running a finger idly around the rim of her glass. At first she had thought it was merely an attempt to keep her from reporting back to the Syndicate but it had to be more than that. Even perfectly reputable shippers were refusing to take passengers.

“Something has people really spooked about this place. Too spooked for people who are moving uranium dust and animal skins.”