#14 by Kaal

Freistaldt Base, Omega 3

The laughter of the bar was the roaring as the crowd shared jokes among endless cups of drinks,
"...and that is why the chicken crossed the road"
Zack thought he was rather clever with that; the best joke was one that was recycled over and over again.
Problem would be though if none of the Independent Miners on Freistaldt knew what a chicken was,
"Vast ist a chicken," asked one of the Rheinish patrons. Another roar followed the query, while the Rheinlander was visibly perplexed.
"You dumb knob, everyone knows that a chicken is a big fat turkey," said one of the Bretonnians.
"Nein, a turkey you say is not a chicken, but the one that flies around but cannot because it's claws are too heavy," as another patron jested by flopping around the floor, doing his best to imitate a lame bird before falling under his own weight.
The merriment of the patrons was a wonder to behold, and although the joke was lost Zack couldn't have thought of any bar in Sirius he would rather be.

*Beebop* *Beebop*
The vibration, green light and pip of his Grayson Comm let him know a contract was just activated was waiting for his attention.
Grabbing another swig of beer and taking a gulp down, Zack shook his head in to see if his head was up for contract job.
"Alright, feel a bit of a delay in that," he thought as his head still felt like jello even after his head shaking stopped.
Reaching in his belt he pinched out a pill of Roprerin; a drug that was commonly distributed among combat pilots to accelerate the liver's breakdown of alcohol among beer-binging soldiers, and swallowed it down with a bottle of water he grabbed off the edge of the bar. But Zack knew he would need more than that to get his head out of inebriation. Picking out the the most visibly gruntled out of the crowd, Zack slowly slacked towards him and moved close until they were face to face.
Making sure his mark had traces of alcohol on his breath, Zack suddenly slapped the patron on his back, "Hey are you my son," he asked loudly.
The sudden shock of such a random question asked by a complete stranger had the man confused to say the least, "What the hell, get off of me mate."
"Good, that got his attention," thougth Zack as he smiled to himself.
"Naw, I think you are my son," moving pulling the confused man even closer, "I'm sorry boyo for not being there for you, growing up 'n all" as Zack gingerly faked sympathy.
The man was getting annoyed, "look kid I'm more your age so get away and enjoy yourself another drink before you make a mess of things."
Zack took his cue as he swaggered back, "Oh, I'm sorry I was mistaken. You see here I had a hell of a night with a 'couger' of a gal last night, and I swore she must be yer mother and you could be yer daddy with all the fun we had last night."
In a fuming rage threw himself off the bar he was leaning on and swung widly at Zack, "You little **** red-dogged tosser, imma get you!"
Swinging to and fro, dodging the man's right and left throws, Zack had the man where he wanted him. Stiffening up for a blow, the red-faced man's fist connected square on Zack's cheek. Shuffling back he looked to the crowd and locked eyes with a group of cheery Bretonnian miners, "That man right there just called the Queen a poopy-cocked-hussy," as Zack pointed at the angered man who just laid him out.
"Aye, boyo's no one calls her Majesty a poopy-cock whore," rousing the nearby Bretonnians, "lets have at 'em, for Queen and Country!"
If there was anymore confusion, there was plenty to go around as the miners ganked the man and scores of patrons turned heads, laughed, threw punches of their own; all having a hell of a time. There was no bar Zack would rather been, or this would have been selectively possible.
"Well that was a hell of a punch," as Zack felt instantly sober, "time to take my leave of this fine establishment."
Sneaking and squeezing through the rowdy crowd, Zack made his way outside the bar looking occupied with his comm unit as base security flew past him to keep the bar-riot under control.

As he entered into the elevator, Zack played back his vid-message and read over the contract details.
"Seems that someone shot up the wrong mining-captain," as he scrolled over the info bits, "couple of million, a generic pirate and what's this," Zack noticed that he wasen't the only one that was after his target.
"And its the Deshima League once again," Zack said to himself with interest. It seemed to a lot of Mercs and Bounty Hunters that there's not many contract "pies" that didn't have dirty-League "fingers" all over it.
Zack wondered who of the Deshima League would take up the contract for their organization, was it the famed Carnifex, the brutish Elyon, the relentless Cobra, or the unpredictable viper Kakera. Any of these targets would make Liberty happy, if he was able to bag one of them.
"Time to make some scratch," as Zack exited the elevator into the flight-deck. He was shivering in anticipation of the couple of million credits to come and a chance to send a "response" to the League's message that Elyon had given to him earlier over Ft. Bush. Zack double-checked his escape pod and the emergency leaver just in case things didn't go his way.