Pete walks in the VIP's lounge. He is flanked by five scruffy individuals of various shapes and sizes.
"Gidday, Soph. I'm extremely bloody annoyed! You won't believe--" he stops and turns to address them. "What are you lot doing here?"
A large man with a thick Rheinlander accent steps up. "You said ve vere going to have a drink."
"Can't you read? This is VIP's only. Your bar is out there." Pete starts to hustle them out. "Gawn! Off you go."
"Vhat about our lunch?"
"I'll bring it out to you."
A gawky youth with a squeaky adolescent voice speaks. "Can I have tomato sauce on mine?"
"Yes, whatever."
A confident Bretonian is eyeing off Sophie. "'Ullo, lovey!"
Pete is flapping his hands. "Shoo! Bzzz!"
They amble out grumbling, and Pete turns back to Sophie, shaking his head.
She chuckles. "Your new crew, I presume?"
"Yes. The big one's Hubert, my right-hander. He handles most things, and weapons when the need arises. Also drives the lifter. He's all right, as far as any Rheiner can be. The smarmy Bret, Mick, is my nav man. He can smell a jumphole from 50 clicks, especially the ones never to take. The little 'Sari is Junji, my techo. I can't understand a word he says, but he can make anything work given a piece of chewing gum and a roll of solder. Next is Fran, my engineer. She keeps the crate of mine flying in one direction instead of all directions. There's a girl under all that grease somewhere. And lastly there's Nat, the work experience kid."
"Looks like you've got your hands full with that lot."
"Ah, they're all right. Just the usual bunch of independents I scrounged up on a Freeport. Although sometimes they could use the old cat-o'-nine-tails."
"Looks they get along pretty well with each other, considering."
"Funny you should say that, Soph. War or no, business is business. And it speaks loud across inter-House and cultural boundaries, no matter what petty conflict or disagreement happens to be tearing the Houses apart at present. Yep, when all's said and done, there's no better peace broker than the almighty credit."
The squeaky Nat timidly enters. "Excuse me, Captain Peterbilt."
Pete becomes annoyed. "What? What is it?"
"Mick and Junji are fighting again."
Pete groans loudly, then leaps to his feet. Nat cowers and scampers out with Pete behind him. Pete can then be heard bellowing, "Oi! I'm gonna knock your heads together."
He stalks back in plonks on the barstool. "Six bacon butties, if you please, Soph. No better make it seven. And put tomato sauce on one." He notices Sophie is giggling behind her hand. "What's so funny?"
"Captain Peterbilt?"
Pete assumes a modest expression. "It's only fitting. I'm a man of responsibility now. Actually it's only the kid who calls me that. I think he's continually terrified I'll cuff him round the ear." Pete cranes his neck and scans around the bar. "Now where's that slacker Derek?"
