Planet Cambridge, Cambridge System
Grantchester City
Neon Lights Lounge
"Austin Goodman," a voice called, in tandem with the telltale scraping of a bar stool across the floor to his blindside. "Is this the piss they serve to war heroes these days?" He inquired, tilting the mug towards him and taking a sniff, hocking up a nice thick loogey and ejecting it with pinpoint accuracy into Goodman's pint of whatever it was that people who liked a little beer with their water drank. "Barkeep!" the newcomer shouted from across the counter. "A Taddy Porter for our mutual friend here, a real man's drink for a real man, and another for myself." He proclaimed, placing a credit chip on his thumb and tossing it into the air, slamming his fist upon it to reveal it had landed RFID side down. "Tails, bollocks. Looks like the next round is on you."
"Lieutenant Rick Holden, sir." the pilot introduced himself, donning an identical service jacket to Goodman's own, an 814 to 818 run. "I saw action on the Tau front, sir. We all looked up to you. How'd a low place like this find itself around a high man such as yourself?" he asked, surveying the grungy interior of the Lounge until the barkeep returned with their drinks, one pint each of the hearty aphotic brew.
"Seems it's your lucky day, Austin." Jim said with a hearty chuckle, picking the credit chip off the counter and twirling it between his fingers. "This man just paid off your whole tab."
