Get Me out of Here

[Cat]

Three days before Kyle's message was received
Monte Carlo Freeport, Provence System, the Kingdom of Gallia

It wasn't the prettiest or most elaborate of bars, but Freeports usually had good drinks at least. Some effort had been put into the decoration on the station, with pictures of different ship designs, Sirian and Gallic alike, hanging on the wall. Simple tables and chairs made of metal and wood were spread through the main room, alongside a generous amount of bar stools around the bar. A window on one side was showing the blue nebula covering a good part of the system.

A grumpy-looking Gaul was manning the bar, not paying any attention to the people of various origins around. His only concern was one of the patrons who was sitting on a stool by the bar counter. There were 3 empty glasses in front of him already, and he was finishing the 4th one. There was nothing outstanding about the man: short brown hair, hazel eyes, and clean shave. His facial features didn't give away his origins: he could easily be from Gallia, Liberty, or Bretonia. The man was wearing a pitch-black leather jacket together with not-so-black jeans and boots; that made an orange T-shirt under the jacket the most outstanding element of his clothes.

"You sure you need more?" The grumpy bartender looked suspiciously at the Sirian who has just ordered a 5th glass of Sidewinder Fang. "That stuff is pretty strong, and I don't want to have to drag you out of here."

"I'm sure... Oui." Kyle grumbled in return, looking down at an empty glass. The bartender shrugged, but took the empty glasses off the counter and put another full glass in front of him. With a nod, the patron took up the glass and downed it in one go, shaking his head afterwards. Here he was, drinking himself into oblivion in the middle of nowhere. And he had assumed he could've made a difference.

Ever since Kyle's girlfriend had stopped responding to his calls, he feared the worst. When he received the message that Kiara was alive, just kidnapped by some Gallic Brigand, his heart sang: he could still do something to save her. But soon after following his heart into Gallia he realised how wrong he had been. The whole thing was like facing an endless wall going in all 4 directions.

Firstly, Kyle barely knew Gallia; he had to make use of all his contacts to try and get to people who actually went there regularly and knew their way around. Secondly, even with knowledge of some Brigand bases, there were just too many of them to check, let alone the planet of Marne. And the worst part was that he couldn't even mention his or Kiara's name. Who knows what she could've told her captors about him? That's why Kyle changed his name, ship, and appearance, albeit slightly.

With all these things considered, a search for a person across a dozen of densely populated systems was a fool's errand. But what else could he do? Wait for Kiara's friends from Forlorn Hope mercenary company to pay the ransom or go in guns blazing and mess it up? No, Kyle didn't want to sit this one out. If only those Forlorn mercs had told him more... A name, a place, whatever clue. They were clearly onto something, but they saw fit not to share their knowledge with a supposed criminal. Yeah, right, as if living in Omicron Alpha automatically makes you guilty of all the crimes in the sector.

Kyle caught himself staring down his empty glass and shook his head again. He then made some manipulations with the PDA, and the bartender nodded, confirming that the payment was received. The Sirian stood up, and at first he seemed mostly unaffected by the amount of alcohol he had. Yet as he started walking, it was evident that the last couple of glasses were a bit too much: he staggered slightly as he walked, barely avoiding collisions with some of the other patrons who were heading towards the counter.

He had to quickly step aside to make way, and that's when his eyes fell on a distant table by the window, and the man stopped still, as if hit by a lightning. The effects of at least two glasses of alcohol just vanished instantly, as he stared at the table, unsure if what he saw was real. Shaking his head didn't make the vision go away, so the Sirian decisively headed towards it, still in a doddery manner, yet not nearly as much drunk as he had been just a few moments ago.