Space Dock within the thirteen colonies.
In a virtual room the program for "English Pub" was running. You walk inside hearing a roudy room full of friends and colleagues enjoying themselves. A welcoming lit fireplace on the far wall warms you. The interior is dark wood, solid wooden beams flank the ceiling, bar, tables and chairs. Oil lamps and unique drawings of past explorers and their vessals compliment the white washed plastered walls. "Finally a place to unwind." You say to yourself. Taking out your palmpilot, you scan the work that has been done on this exceptionally busy day, plus glimpsing the hairy schedule that awaits you tomarrow. Work will have to wait another day.
A woman walks in dressed in oily shorts and t-shirt, carrying a backpack, her hair tucked up into a baseball cap. Walking past the bar she looks towards the bartender and motions an 'ok' to him, obviously approving of his gesture to her. She walks towards the back of the room, taking her place at a table directly next to the fireplace. From her bag she removes from it a pair of glasses, text and notebook, and a pen. The bartender walks over to her, nearly oblivious to his presense. He places a drink away from her books, hurrying back to tend to the other customers. Tiny long strands of curls tease in the light of the fire. 'Was it the same color as the blazing fire?' Thinking to yourself, maybe it's a trick of the light, or lack of.
The gentlemen sitting at the bar around you speak of the young lady out of the bartenders earshot. You couldn't help picture them as a pack of bloodhounds who had victoriously found the fox den. The husky man of a bartender, while drying a glass with a towel, gave a deadly glance at the gauking gentlemen, putting them quickly back into their places.
