"And then I drew both my pistols and turned to face them," Jocasta declared, "I drew both pistols and planted my feet. Bullets were wizzing all around me, blasting palm trees into sap and splinters! Laser bolt splashed off the sand burning little circles of black glass. The whole world was a roar of noise and explosions but I wasn't afraid!"

The listeners leaned in, intent either on the story, or at least intent on Jocasta's impassioned delivery which included a considerable amount of heaving bosom in her green and white flightsuit. Xiska smoke wafted up from ash trays and empty liquor bottles rattled as people adjusted their positions. A rough mud map of the beach had been created with bottle caps and protein sticks, a half crushed packet of smoke sticks represented the wrecked barge.

"I lifted my pistols," Jocasta continued, making little pantomime finger guns and pretending to squint down them.

"Then Bam. BAM. BAM!" she enthused slapping the table to empasise each theatrical shot. "Head shot, head shot, head shot!"

The listeners crowed and slapped the table with enthusiasum, some calling out in disbelief, others cheering and hooting. Jocasta made a slow half turn, finger guns sweeping the crowd.

"I cut through them like a laser knife through butter!" There were more cheers mixed with hoots of derision. It was clear however good the story there was some good natured skepticism about is veracity. Jocasta scooped a dart up off the table and threw it at the target on the far wall, a slab of cork with the portrait of an unpopular local politician taped onto it. The dart thudded into his left eye. It was less of a trick than it looked, considering she had a trio of drones perched around the spacers bar to give her all the angles. The feat momentarily stilled the disbelievers.

"What about the guy in the mech suit though, surely you couldn't have taken him down with a pistol," a scar faced smuggler objected.

"Oh yeah, that guy," Jocasta greed, thrusting her finger guns into imaginary holsters. "I had taken out all his goons, but he was still stomping down the beach, chain guns kicking up sand all around me. I hit him again and again with my pistols but to no avail. I thought I was finished, but Jocasta Ap'Gwyn never gives up!"

"I only had one chance, I saw that he was wearing a bandolier of grenades so I..." Jocasta snapped her fingers and her three drowns swooped in from all directions, seizing the pull tabs on several cans and ripping them free before soaring upwards and letting them fall to the table with a metallic clatter.

"Pulled the pins and then..." she slapped at her chest in imitation of a big clumsy man pawing at grenades that were suddenly hot.

"BOOM! bits of him raining down over half a kilometer of beach!" she crowed. The drunken spacers hooted and hollared, some clapping.

"And that," Jocasta concluded, "Is how I single handedly saved the resort from pirates."

"And what about chuckles over there," the smuggler asked, lifting his chin towards Dirk's armored form. Jocasta tossed her head as though it were of no account.

"I really couldn't say, I'm sure he was usefully occupied though."