Dante sat up, only to abruptly be forced back down as he cracked his helmetless head on the top of the bunk. Oaths echoed through the cramped room and the equally low ceilinged corridor beyond. A chain reaction began as the noise woke up the residents of the other rooms, and shouting spread through the rooms.

In his miserable excuse for a room, the source of the disturbance lay with his eyes closed, trying to ignore the pain from his now-throbbing skull. This attempt wasn't helped by the noise and the fact that it had given him what was rapidly turning into the mother of all headaches. Dante massaged his temple with his ungloved hand, taking care to skirt the raised bump that had formed there. When his hand came away, there was a dark red stain on his index finger.

"Osik..."

Moving slowly and carefully this time, Dante applied a kolto patch to the jagged cut in his forehead. His breath hissed out between gritted teeth as the fluid seeped into the wound, stinging where it touched. The cut prickled for a few seconds, then returned to normal. Dante pressed the dressing down, then placed the wrapper in the waste unit. The unit hissed as it processed the flimsiplast, then reopened.

Using his hands to pull himself up, the Gunnery Sergeant got to his feet. The Katarn-class armour he was wearing only added to the difficulty, as it weighed over 20 kilograms and was fairly bulky for its class. Still, Dante had grown accustomed to the plating, and the body suit could withstand quite a beating. Officially, all passengers were supposed to surrender all weapons and body armour upon boarding the vessel. Unofficially, a generous "donation" to the customs officials and ship captain would result in them turning a blind eye to violations. Dante was hardly alone in his efforts: almost every passenger he'd seen had been sporting a blaster or vibroblade of some make.

Dante pressed his palm to the scanner, and the doorseal hissed open. Walking aimlessly through the starliner's cramped corridors, he eventually came to the cantina. The guard looked pointedly at the DC-17 strapped to Dante's side, shaking his head as he did so. Dante nodded understandingly.

"I see."

He then slipped each of the guards a credit chip, and they waved him through.

Thankfully, most of the patrons seemed to be unarmed. A Twilek waitress came over, a tray of drinks in each hand.

"Can I get you something?"

"Sure. I'll have a Felucian nectar, if you have any in stock."

The Twilek nodded, accepted Dante's credit chip, and came back with a tall glass filled to the brim with a red-orange liquid. Dante took a small sip, savoring the sweet-sour aftertaste the liquid left on his tongue.

As he drank, Dante looked around the dimly lit bar. It's patrons were mostly in groups of twos or threes, discussing business in hushed voices or laughing together at jokes Dante wished he didn't understand. Some of the patrons were sporting Republic insignia, and most of these were armed. Dante suddenly became aware of eyes on his back, and he turned his head slightly.

Three men seated at a table near his were eying him and muttering. The fact that their apparent leader had the Alliance starbird tattooed into his cheek didn't help Dante's mood either. Under the table, he drummed his fingers on his DC-17.

The one with the cheek tattoo, who Dante thought of as "Tattoo-guy", got up, swaying slightly as he went. Dante forced himself to remain still as the Republic trooper came up to him, knowing that showing weakness would probably result in disaster.

Tattoo-guy laid a hand on Dante's shoulder, obviously hoping for a reaction. Dante remained calm, continuing to sip his drink. After a few moments, the man pressed down harder, but the Katarn shoulder-pad meant that Dante couldn't feel the pressure. Finally, he spoke.

"Your kind aren't welcome here."

"Excuse me?" Dante asked, even though he knew exactly what Tattoo-guy meant.

"Your kind. Imps. Dirty imp fascists." The man's voice was slurred, but his hand was steady as it reached for his holster. Dante was aware that the man's drinking buddies had moved into flanking positions around him, and that there was now a circle around them where the other patrons had moved away. Dante felt the other two grab his arms and pull them back, pushing his head down. The group's leader had opened the holster, and had begun to pull out his blaster. As he continued to speak, he moved his blaster back, preparing to club Dante with the weapon.

"What you Imps need is a.."

He never finished his sentence, as Dante wrestled free of the two thugs holding him down and pulled his own blaster from its sling. Tattoo-boy clicked the safety off on his weapon, tracking the moving trooper, only to freeze at the sounds of dozens of similar clicks.

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Dante might have found what happened next highly amusing. Almost every one of the bar's patrons had pulled out a blaster of their own. Dante spotted everything from sporting blasters to rusty E-11's. Even the cute Twilek waitress had a DC-15 aimed at the disturbance. Dante silently swallowed, feeling dozens of eyes and laser sights trained at him.

Then someone fired.