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in
general.
    Lucy, realizing
that the scene was deteriorating and that someone was shortly going to have a
large hole in them, attempted to defuse the situation.
    “Baby," she
said, looking at her husband, “I’m sorry. I love you.”
    The large cannon
pointing at her wavered. “Put the gun down baby. I love you so much."
    Logan used the
distraction to fire his biodart. It struck Mr. Trollope in the neck who
staggered back, clutching his neck and roaring like a sea lion, simultaneously
firing his plasma cannon. The bolt, largely unaimed, struck the floating AG
light fixture which exploded, raining fragments down upon the occupants of the
room. The remnants of the light fixture struck the bed with a crash. Logan
rolled and narrowly avoided getting pummeled. He sat up and looked around. Mr.
Trollope was slumped in one corner while Mrs. Trollope appeared to have fainted
in the other. Gathering up his coverall, Logan bolted for the door.
    “How the fuck do I
get myself into these situations?," he muttered to himself.
    Attracting a few
curious glances as his ran down the corridor, Logan finally stopped and began
pulling on his coverall, removing his naked butt from general view.
    “Four years
fucking military training, five years service, ten covert combat assignments
and this is what I end up doing."
    A woman walking
past veered away from the strange, mostly naked man talking to himself.
    Badly needing a
drink, Logan ordered a cart. Arriving one minute later, he clambered in.
    “The Listing Ship,
Churchill plaza” he told it and sat back. Just in time too. A cart filled with
security droids was making its way down from the opposite end of the corridor.
The corridor, 20 meters wide, was host to a variety of people, some walking,
and some like him, riding in carts. Weaving in and out of traffic, Logan’s cart
took 5 minutes to reach the plaza. Churchill plaza was about 150 meters in
diameter carved out of the solid rock of Coleridge Asteroid. Filled with
people, mostly tourists by the look of them, the plaza was surrounded by
buildings with facades based on 18 th century English architecture.
    The cart dropped
him outside one of the buildings, a Pub displaying a sign showing an old
English Galley in the process of sinking. Watched for long enough, the sign
would go through a whole cycle of sailing and then sinking ship in about 30
seconds. Logan, having been bored by it many times before, went straight in.
His military training kicked in and he gave the bar a quick scan before heading
to his accustomed spot in the corner. A good looking brunette woman sitting at
the bar by herself gave his lean six foot figure an appraising glance and
flashed a smile at him as he sat down in a darkened corner and ordered
Copifilian Whiskey from the serving droid. Gulping his drink, certain parts of
his anatomy compelled him to return the woman’s smile even though his brain was
telling him to avoid entanglements – at least for a little while.
    He ordered a
second whiskey and slowly sipping it, was informed by his AI that he had a call
coming in. Logan recognized the icon. It was his boss.  Ex-army Major Big Al
Fletcher. Big Al had recruited him into his investigation practice 2 months ago
after Logan had been told that “his services were no longer required," by
Unamuno’s military intelligence division.
    Closing one eye,
Big Al’s holo representation filled half his vision. Big Al appeared as an
imposing bull necked individual with a shaven skull. A prominent large black
and bushy handlebar mustache completed the look.
    “Captain,"
said Big Al by way of greeting.
    “Major”
    “I’ve had a very
disgruntled customer on the line Logan."
    “Oh?,"
replied Logan, feigning surprise.
    “Spare me the
shit, you know exactly who I’m talking about”
    “Good news
obviously spreads fast." Not surprising really. If someone he hired had
fucked his wife and shot him with a biodart, he’d probably complain as well.
    “What the fuck