The Blue Lion

[jammi]

Andrew submerged himself in the room's ambience, allowing the waves of conversation to roll over him. Enveloped by the hum of gossip, idle chatter and surrounded by the frivolities of employees on their break, his worries eased away. He drank slowly, listening to MacFarlane's crew. Scott himself wasn't looking happy, realising the folly of his jubilant declaration. Already a small crowd of Services technicians had use it as an opportunity to buy and burn through three rounds of shots. A haughty looking Colonial Authority clerk purchased a frilly-looking pink cocktail, then stalked off with his nose in the air.

"No I didn't," Scott replied to his female crewmate gruffly.

"It might have been an echo from the air-con systems? Noise tends to rattle around through them," Peterson ventured. "It can be quite troublesome during the night-cycle when the lights are dimmed. You can't quite tell where a sound is coming from." He swilled his pint around the glass, realising morosely that there was only half left. He brightened up as he remembered there were another three to go.

Before anyone else could interject, his PDA went off. A few seconds later, so did Scott's, then Aaron's and a smattering of other bar-goers. Bemused, Andrew pulled the little pocket computer out and prodded the screen. There was a system-wide comm message being dispatched by HQ, from the InfoNet. That was a rarity. He tapped it open, then skim-read the contents.

Andrew's jaw dropped. "Bloody hell! Scott, check your PDA!"

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