"Reckon ships are gettin' inspected in low orbit, why they ain't taking fares... Which only means one thing: Union's here," said Augustine. In point of fact, he knew this was the case. He'd not spent all the time Kyra was out looking for tickets off-world drinking. Just most of it. But she didn't need to know everything. "Imperial security, 'specially out here in the Territories, is never so thorough."

He sipped his drink. "And if the Union's over Benson, [i]that[/i] means either a new war is cookin' up or they worked somethin' out with the Imperial Houses. And if [i]that[/i] last is the case, if the Union and the Great Houses are makin' nice, well..."

He signaled to the bartender for a refill, "...we want outta here. No goods comin' from whatever is spookin' Blues'n Whites into workin' hand in glove."

He chuckled and lit a smoke, "Though, I s'pose that does reflect our own situation a bit, Ms. Ren."

They hadn't discussed their backgrounds on the ride from the mine to Port Carolus- in fact, Augustine'd slept off his hangover for most of the drive. And they were too busy outrunning ganger patrols on the stretch from Carolus to Toehold to do much talkin' neither. But Augustine knew a Union witch when he saw one- after all he'd killed his share in the War. Kyra struck him as undertrained -or maybe she just had a weaker wyrd than some of the Union hags he'd met, or maybe she was a pro and good at hiding it- but he still kept his surface level thoughts masked. The trick was simple rhymes on repeat, keep 'em goin' in the back of your mind and the jaysers had a hard time pinning down your real thoughts.

	[i]Had we but world enough and time, 
	This coyness, lady, were no crime.[/i]

"Anyways, I think I got an answer to our problems," said Augustine lowering his voice and nodding at a rowdy table of slavers in the corner of the bar, "flesh traders over there are due off world in two days, totally legal- they got Imperial warrants. My thought is, we keep close to 'em and the day before they leave we get the drop on 'em, lock 'em in their own hold, and sail outta here as legal slave dealers."
	
The bartender slid another whiskey into Augustine's waiting hand, "Plus, gives us some time to do some serious drinking."