Lester Haughton jumped lightly down from the vehicle and waved to the nice Alliance troopers who had kindly given him a lift from the local Alliance complex from which he had just retired. Switching his compact black holdall from one hand to the other, he slowly turned a full circle, taking in the bustling Border Planet Commercial Docks that surrounded him. It was still fairly early in the morning, so they were not quite as crowded as usual, but there were still hundreds of people striding purposefully to and from ships and buildings. The docks were a little shabby, but that could be expected, few respectable ships and even fewer cruise liners ventured as far into the black as the Border Planets, such as Persephone, where Lester was heading, to begin what he hoped would be a peaceful, if a little lonely retirement. Lester had no family. All his blood relatives were dead, and he was an only child. He had been married, long ago, but his wife and two sons had been killed in a freak ship crash. The blurry memory caused a small stab of sadness in his chest, followed by a rumble in his stomach, reminding him loudly that he hadn’t eaten for hours.

He could dwell on the past later. He had to find a ship willing to take him to Persephone, but first, and foremost, he had to find something to eat. Catching sight of a narrow, seclude alley, he ventured into the unnatural twilight caused by the overhanging balconies on the surrounding buildings. It was common knowledge, that if a traveller wanted a decent meal, the best bars could be found off the beaten path on the back streets of the docks.

He had not reached halfway down the alley, when a coarse, heavily muscled arm slid around his throat, and the sharp blade of a knife rested coldly against the base of his throat. A rough unshaven cheek brushed his, and a gruff voice rasped in his ear. “Hand over the bag, nice an’ slow, like. Don’t be makin’ any sudden movements, and I won’t have to kill yer.”

Lester froze for a fraction of a second before his subconscious took over.