Space ports are crowded moon dust streaked stations at almost every outpost. There was a 'Zeeelocks drinkin emporium' at practically every port these lights, and usually had a trading post nearby. Peoples from anywhere that's anywhere argued, dealed, drank and generally turned the air blue. Or in the case of the Greekins, purple.

Ships arrived every minute from galaxies far and further. This particular port, the port of the Nebulae Ishabitzu, was generally avoided by the more safety conscious of space farers. This place was in the back alleys of the universe, even the Trogs of the Zarquon region avoided it like the plague and family reunions.

Currently there was a convoy of Talaxian Rums being delivered to Zeeelocks and security was high. The usual galactic rangers were nowhere to be seen (the rangers were nothing like their names, most were ex-accountants from the Veroilworlds that had been forced out during the Thumbtack revolutions) and the local hired hands were out in force. Most were standing with their hands by the sides of their metal suits, their Teppet holsters in full view, and staring, somewhat sluggishly, at the busy natives.

The natives of Ishabitzu were mixed and highly varied; basically it was a refuge for the outlaws, the trouble makers and the down right baaad. All the original inhabitants had left millions of light years ago because of the Ishabitzu environment of acidic rain and constant migraine inducing neostorms. The newer 'natives' compensated by inducing a state of higher consciousness 110 percent of the time (this was where Zeeelocks and local 'chemists' came in handy - Travel zips warned that, suspiciously, most accidental death and violent outbursts occurred in the early hungover hours of morning)
The market was in full swing this evening. There had been no sign of the space rangers for nearly three lights, and businesses were experiencing an unusual rise in profits.

A ship had docked earlier that day, and it was met with little or no curiosity. The local 'entrepreneurs' ignored it, for it was meteor cracked and pretty low tech - most were focusing on a Tyrinian tourist envoy, with their rich yackers taking pictures of every 'quaint' sight.
The ship's owner dawdled down the rampway and entered the main port area. This was completely spaceless due to the arrival of a dozen Boolums from the planet Booolum - the natives were never ones for deep thought . Or any thought for that matter. The Boolums individually took over twice the space of your average giant, and elbow room was shrinking by the moment.

The captain of the ship made his way to customs with an odd shuffling stride, and fixed the receptionist with a piercing one-eyed glare. The receptionist, who was adept at meeting the most unsavoury of characters could ignore his scarred visage, his lopsided stance, even the pungent aroma emanating from him, but what caused her chin to drop below her nose, was the fact that he had a white fluffy floppy-eared rabbit on his shoulder.

"Business or pleasure," the receptionist stammered, trying not to stare at the bunny.
"What do you think starbeams?" He cracked a haggard chuckle. Forcing is face into a countenance of thought he added, business. Short time stay."
She nodded and motioned him to hold up his right hand. There was only one green line tattooed there so she stamped his passpad.
"It's an extra three dolciums (or currency of your choice, as long as it's valid, not from the northern quadrants or here) for pets and familiars."
The one eye pinned her to the spot.
"And what pet would that be?" he asked his voice cold as molten knives. The receptionist quailed and shrugged nervously.
"Never mind," she said quickly, "move along. Please."

The captain shuffled into Zeeelocks, ordered some 'good shit'™ then settled down in the shadows at the back of the bar. He took in the customers, noting details carefully. Apart from the bar-it, there were three persons playing zap the porter (using 'momas old fashioned holo-cards'); one talaxian - a short blue man/woman ( gender descriptions can get a little cloudy when describing certain species, some are impossible to tell, some are both and some neither [it can cause hell for chat-up lines. Most PC lines go like, 'how about you and me go get a drink where we can discuss if you want to make sweet sweet love or if you have a female relative who would be more my type? Its OK either way. aha aha ha.], most just stick with mowowe =man/ woman), one humanoid vaguely transparent , and a Boolum who was currently drooling on his hand.
Seeing trouble looming there, the captain turned his attention elsewhere. Sitting alone at the bar was a wanderer:one who made a living working from ship to ship just to eat and, most likely, drink. The wanderer was tall, muscular and clad completely in shocking pink. It helped to be noticed in his line of work, but there had to be limits, he thought.
Well, desperate times called for slightly anxious measures. The captain decided he would do- all brawn, no brains, and no taste as it seemed. He was about to approach him when some one else entered. Something made the captain hesitate, and he watched the newcomer with interest.
She was female, and unlike the wanderer, was dressed in less conspicuous tones. Humanoid, with long dishevelled hair, which appeared to be light purple, dusty brown Troy leather trousers (soft leather, comfortable and convenient. When you think of leather, think of Troy!tm.), a black cowboy hat - probably from the badland regions they were always adopting primitive cultures' fashions), and a long brown spacecoat. She glanced around briefly, then placed her pack on the floor beside her. She ordered a drink and sat, remaining tense the whole time.
Now that was a girl who was good at not attracting attention, the captain thought, she was obviously practised. By now, the talaxian normally would have been coaxing any female for her palm print, but it hadn't even noticed her. Ah, but the wanderer had. The captain watched as he inched his bar stool along until he sat beside her. The girl ignored him.
"Hows about you and me go make a super nova." He slurred.
She glanced at him eyebrow raised. "Why don't you go? I will catch up later." She said in low tones.
The wanderer chuckled. "Are you here all alone? Or are your parents making a transaction outside?"
Rolling her eyes, she said, "If you find who my parents are, why don't you ask them."
"Oh, so you're here alone." Leering he said, "Theres a lot of trouble an unescorted female can get into here. Theres a lot of hard people around."
She ignored him and knocked back her drink.
He continued, leaning close to her. She smelt his bitter alcohol laden breath, and looked pointedly at his hand on her arm.
"Lets just go upstairs and I can show you how hard we can get." He pulled her up. Quicker than the eye could see, the girl had swung a kick in his softer areas.
He doubled over, his eyes watering. She flicked her wrist on the back of his head and he fell unconscious.
Placing her hat back on her head, she said low and clear for the audience, "I don't take kindly to invasions of my personal space."
Gathering up her bag, she left.
The captain jumped up. He glanced at the wanderer and shook his head amused. Instead, he raced out the door after the girl.

More coming soon if anyone wants it.