[ WP ] A sudden , horrible storm traps a group of strangers in a bar together .

Red and yellow lights flashed across Galen's console. He muttered a curse and flipped a switch to mute the beeping alert. `` I do n't have time for more malfunctions, you old junker.'' he groaned. The old fashioned cockpit was a home to Galen: from the clackety switches to the scratched flat-screens and the gaudy black plastic that covered the electronics. Galen stretched in his leather seat, stealing a look at the other ships parked in the cramped hangar. 
 
 There was a Falcon series mark 5 hauler, a rusty Spitfire personal transport, a Pegasus mark 2 with `` Goldstar Couriers'' stamped on its side and at the very back of the hangar, a Corinthian fighter ship bristling with guns and missile racks. Galen grabbed a handle and slid the glass canopy open. He clambered down the side of his craft and onto the dirty hangar floor. *There is n't a seedier station in the entire galaxy*, he thought, dusting his hands and watching a pilot in coveralls crossing the hangar. The pilot had a lit cigarette in one hand and a communicator in the other. `` Fucking bullshit.'' Galen heard him mutter at the device in his hand. 
 
 The hangar's speakers crackled and a female voice said, `` All vessels are grounded due to bad weather. We do n't know when it'll clear out, so stop harassing the barkeep, you fucking freaks.'' 
 
 Galen ran a hand through his disheveled hair, sighing. He started for the bar's door at the far end of the hangar, unzipping his grey jumpsuit and tying the sleeves around his waist. The grease-smudged white wifebeater underneath exposed dark tattoos on his arms and shoulders. 
 
 Past a short corridor and a set of sliding metal doors was exactly the kind of bar Galen expected to see. Straight ahead was a long bar, with a female barkeep in a leather jacket behind it. Leather covered booths stood alongside the bare metal walls. A jukebox older than his ship played music in the corner. Neon advertisements and badly printed posters adorned the walls. Several pilots, mechanics, passengers and other crewmen milled about. Galen approached the bar. 
 
 `` Evenin','' said the barkeep, `` get'cha anything?'' 
 
 Galen stared at the screen behind the bar, where a slick haired reporter was talking grimly about an electromagnetic storm. `` What ever he's having.'' said Galen, motioning at the man next to him without looking. 
 
 `` Are you coming on to me, boy?'' said a gruff voice. 
 
 Galen grimaced and swept his eyes aside to look at the pilot. An obese, mustached monstrosity was sneering back at him. A `` Goldstar Couriers'' badge was sewn into his jumpsuit, just above the heart. There was a glass of neat whisky in one of his meaty hands. 
 
 `` No, sir, no-'' started Galen, `` but I can recognize a man who knows his whisky, and considering it was a demanding day, I think I deserve a glass of something good, like I imagine you do.'' 
 
 The fat pilot turned in his stool to face away from Galen, who wisely decided to take a seat a couple of stools away. The barkeep set a glass in front of him and poured a golden, sharp scented liquid in it. `` Thank you.'' muttered Galen. 
 
 Two men sat beside him. One was ragged, with old jeans, a scuffed jacket and tangled hair to go with a tangled beard. The other wore a dark blue jumpsuit and had a broken nose and a day's stubble. They nodded at Galen as they sat, and muttered their preferred drinks to the barkeep. 
 
 `` You the owner of that old Lullaby class ship?'' asked the scruffy one. 
 
 `` Yeah,'' said Galen, paused for a moment for a sip of whisky, `` still runs like a dream.'' 
 
 `` I had one of those.'' he replied, nodding at something, perhaps approving Galen's statement. 
 
 `` Name's Galen.'' 
 
 `` Dirk,'' said the scruffy man, `` and this is Rafa.'' he added, seeing as Rafa was busy chugging a beer from its dark glass bottle. 
 
 `` We're a hauler-escort duo.'' said Dirk, `` We're gon na be late for this run.'' 
 
 `` Fuck it, pay ai n't good enough to be on time on a normal day.'' chimed Rafa. 
 
 `` What's the haul?'' asked Galen. 
 
 `` Monthly supplies for Mining Station Thirteen, at Planet Four, Star Alpha-Eight-One-Nine-Theta. Shitstain of the galaxy.'' murmured Dirk. 
 
 `` Dirk only knows how to complain.'' said the barkeep, leaning against the other side of the wooden bartop, and shook her head at him. 
 
 `` That's true.'' said Rafa. 
 
 `` Tracy, if I was cheerful all the time I would n't be your top costumer.'' said Dirk in a hoarse tone. 
 
 Rafa affirmed Dirk with a deep nod. 
 
 `` What're you here for, pilot?'' asked Tracy. There was something charming in her careless, edge of the galaxy accent. 
 
 `` Headed to Sovis to for some replacement parts. But I do jobs as they come, to my best ability.'' 
 
 Galen sipped his whisky. Saying `` small town bounty-hunter, scavenger and smuggler extraordinaire'' crossed his mind, but in this kind of place he'd be ridiculed. In more civilized parts of the galaxy he'd either be reported to the sheriff or asked to tell stories of glory. Here he'd probably get an unimpressed nod in return. 
 
 Rafa leaned forward to get a better look at Galen past Dirk, and said, `` Run a search in your communicator-'' waited for Galen to produce the device `` -Gamma-Two-Seven-Alpha-Two-Five-Six-Four-Beta, Dash, Three-Six-Eight.'' 
 
 Galen let the communicator pick up Rafa's instructions. The database would n't update, so Galen had to make it search the cached records. A three hour file showed up, with a large red WANTED at the top. A grinning woman with straight black hair and thick eyelashes stared at Galen from the screen of his communicator. The details below warned him at length. A number at the bottom indicated she was worth 250.000 credits to any Sheriff of the Republic. 
 
 `` Ahh, not my type. Blondes.'' said Galen, looking up at Rafa to see him lighting a cigar. 
 
 `` Only bounty hunters carry pistols in hip holsters, Galen, come on.'' he said, flashing a smirk. 
 
 `` So, what?'' 
 
 `` Booth, two o'clock.'' murmured Rafa, `` Do n't look!'' he added in a sharp whisper. 
 
 Galen sipped his whisky, glancing from booth to booth, until he spotted the woman from the wanted poster. She sat with her feet up on the table with an air of casual delinquence, her hair in a loose ponytail. Three tall bottles of beer lay empty on the table, and a fourth was in the very process. 
 
 `` She's way outta my league.'' said Galen, shaking his head a bit. 
 
 `` Come on, just be confident. Go talk to her. Say something nice, maybe buy her a fifth drink.'' chuckled Dirk, sitting back a little and lighting his own cigar. 
 
 `` How's my hair?'' asked Galen before finishing the last of his whisky in a gulp. `` Lovely.'' said Dirk. 
 
 Galen left his stool and crossed the bar toward the woman's booth. She did n't look armed, at least from this angle. Tipsy, yes. The comparison to picking up women was fitting, he thought. He was new to bounty hunting, and two hundred and fifty thousand credits was far beyond anything he'd ever bagged. His heart was beating hard. The woman looked dangerous. 
 
 He approached the booth with his best `` casual but tough'' expression. `` Ah-uh, pretty boy-'' she remarked, stopping him in his tracks, `` gun on the table, then you sit.'' 
 
 Galen unholstered his pistol, put it down on the tabletop and slid into the bench opposite the woman. He felt like stuttering. 
 
 `` You fly the Spitfire?'' he asked, looking across at her. She had black eyes that stared back at him intently, without the slight lack of focus he expected from the alcohol. `` What's it to ya?'' she muttered in a low, sweet voice. Honey, that's how Galen would describe it. 
 
 `` Deliverance on the Wing of a Spitfire, best book I ever read. It injected me with dreams of flying to the edge of the galaxy with nothing but a gun and a heart for the unknown.'' he mused. He was past playing tricks. Galen knew any trace of a lie would be picked up straight away. 
 
 `` You're a little old for that,'' she said, taking a mighty swig from her beer bottle, `` I did that when I was sixteen. Trust me, buddy, that road leads nowhere.'' 
 
 `` You get lost in greed, gunpowder, grease and heartbreak. Cynical. Yeah, that'll come easy.'' she muttered, waving the bottle in her small hand. 
 
 `` Maybe.'' 
 
 Galen leaned his head back against the leather of the booth. `` The romance of what's beyond the canopy still impresses me, every day, even after three years.'' 
 
 `` I am free,'' he raised his hands, his eyes boring into hers, `` bound to none, master of nothing but my ship, a rolling stone they'd say in the old books.'' 
 
 The corners of her lips quirked for a moment, but then she frowned at Galen. `` You do shit jobs, for shit pay, stay at shit bars and drink their shit beer. The good life, eh?'' 
 
 `` It's part of the charm.'' he said, with a crooked grin. 
 
 `` You ca n't really be that aimless, that pissed off at the world- does nothing bring you comfort?'' asked Galen, his eyebrows knotting together. 
 
 `` Nothing but the momentary comfort of a beer, a smoke-'' at this she produced a cigarette and lit it in a cloud of thick smoke, `` -and occasional company of a kindred spirit.'' 
 
 `` The grace of the old Spitfire, that beautiful bird, weaving through the asteroid fields, scanning the console for bogeys. Yeah, that used to be... used to bring me excitement, and peace, and joy. Not so much lately.'' she mused, her eyes switching between Galen and the occasional trail of smoke from her cigarette. 
 
 They spent a long moment with her entranced in the cigarette, sipping her beer, and him thinking about the pistol on the table. She must've sensed this somehow, because she said, `` I'm worth two hundred and fifty grand for the Sheriff, you know. That dirty paper pusher, fuck that guy.'' 
 
 `` I know.'' said Galen. She looked at him through a cloud of smoke and then glanced at the pistol. 
 
 `` But since we're kindred spirits, how about I buy you a drink, and you tell me a little about life at the edge of the galaxy? Teach a newbie the ropes, what do you say?'' he queried. Every word was the epitome of honesty. He did n't know what made him change his mind. 
 
 `` Whatever.'' she said, nodding at the bar pointedly. *I guess I'll have to find out*, he thought.
