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Guest Laarell




The bartender gave the woman across the bar a thin smile. An Orion. If she wasn't a slave -- and since she didn't seem to have anyone around keeping a possessive eye on her, she probably wasn't -- then she was most likely Syndicate. Either way, it wasn't particularly good for his business, and the sooner she was out of his bar, the better off he'd be. "Can I get you something?" he asked, shortly.


"First, I'd like a double shot of your best whiskey." She was smiling at him, twisting a strand of dark hair around her finger in a way that was clearly supposed to be beguiling. "Secondly, I'd like some information."


Definitely Syndicate -- if not worse. "The whiskey I can do. Information... probably not."


"No?" Oh dear spirits. She was actually pouting. "But I can pay... in many ways, and very well."


"Hm." He slid the glass over the bar, pretending to consider her offer for a moment. "I suppose a woman like you has a lot of latinum."


"You suppose correctly." She smiled at him. "What I need is information on how to get into the facility. Also, some names of who works there who also is... interested in making some extra money on the side."


The bartender blinked, taken aback. Either she had a hell of a lot of firepower hidden somewhere, or she was just plain stupid. For one thing, everyone (including Syndicateers) knew that the Comal facility was damned near inpenetrable. Secondly, even if you were foolhardy enough just to go skulking your way inside, you didn't announce it to the throng of people sitting at a bar. Besides, he hated it when customers assumed that bartenders were automatically corrupt and dying to make an extra bar. "That's a pretty risky idea," he commented, becoming more and more uncomfortable with the situation as he thought about it.


"I'm adventuresome."


He nodded, trying not to look too warily at her. "Well, I don't know anything personally," he answered, feeling a slight bit of relief as two customers adjacent to the Orion took their drinks to tables in the bar -- clearly, he wasn't paranoid. "But I do know a few people who might. I'll give them a comm, if you wait here?"


"Of course." The female smiled brightly at him. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."


He hurried off to the back of the pub, glancing behind himself to be certain that the Orion was out of hearing range. Then, he tapped a little red square marked "authorities" on his comm panel, dropped his voice, and explained the situation.


When, ten minutes (and a few shots of whiskey) later, several security personnel from the facility arrived to the Orion's great dismay (and loud outcry), he gave himself a good pat on the back for doing the right thing -- and promptly went back to business, certain that the overcurious customer was in the proper hands.

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