<strong>Mortimer - Still in Flanagan's bar on the outskirts of New Paris, Bernadette</strong><br/><br/>----------<br/><br/>Perhaps Mort had read too many stories and seen too many fictional accounts, but when the bartender denied knowing anything, Mort semi-discretely slid some paper money across the bar to him - a bribe for information.  It wasn't as if he had a lot of cash to spare, but he had to at least get off planet before he could start making money as a reporter.<br/><br/>"Keep yer money, pal.  I serve drinks.  You want information, try the Cortex."<br/><br/>Hmmm, this wasn't going the way he'd hoped.  He glanced at the mysterious door again, wondering what lay beyond and how one goes about getting in the first time.<br/><br/>Then, at the other end of the bar a young woman came in asking the same question, but less discretely than he did, only to get the same negative response.  This was a bar, nothing else.<em>In a pig's eye it was</em>, but if Shmit wasn't inclined to share information with the unknown customers, there wasn't much that could be done.  Bribery didn't help, and Mortimer didn't think physical threats would be of much use either.<br/><br/>The bartender did seem to be friendly enough to the regulars, though.  That's probably what makes them regulars, right?  Mortimer decided to hang around quietly and see if listening would yield more information than asking questions.<br/><br/>That was when an explosion rocked the city in the distance.  Wait, was it an explosion, or just the sound of something crashing into something else?  A ship wrecking at the docks?  No, it sounded like it came from the other direction.  Then another noise.  It was definitely an explosion.<br/><br/>"Look, pal, you better get outa here." The partender was pointing to a crude handwritten notice on the wall behind the bar<em>"we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone"</em>- it was taped up there between the notices that coffee and tea was limited to one free refill, and the management was not responsible for power glitches affecting any of the pool tables.   "In fact, everybody out.  All of youse.  The place is closed.  Go on, get out.  Now."  He looked like he had someplace else to be, and anyone who wasn't moving for the door in the next few seconds would get a menacing look from a big guy holding a wooden club.<br/><br/>Suddenly, the regular customers were no more welcome than the strangers.  Mortimer slammed down a bit more of the drink he hadn't wanted in the first place then headed for the front door.  Finding himself exiting at the same time as the two women from the bar, he saw it had grown considerably darker than it was when he entered.  Outside, there was some commotion with a few people pointing to the northeast (the city center was due north) where an orange glow could be seen.<br/><br/>Asking no one in particular but everyone within earshot, Mortimer said<strong>"What happened?"</strong><br/><br/><strong>**************************************</strong><br/><br/>Within two minutes, port locks will be activated preventing any ships from leaving the docks outside New Paris, and in three minutes, it would affect all ships on the planet.<br/><br/>In five minutes, an Alliance patrol craft will be hovering about 2000 feet above the scene of the explosions.<br/><br/>In ten minutes, official looking black mules filled with uniformed personnel (some in combat/riot gear, some merely in the regular working uniform) will be passing by rushing here and there.  In the streets people will be talking about revolution, mass arrests, accidental explosions of hydrogen storage tanks, robberies of banks, robberies of food distribution warehouses, and of course, Reaver attacks.<br/><br/>The<em>Andromeda</em>, being one of the few ships on the planet, will be of special interest to the Feds .. as will a party of spacers (a derogatory term for people who choose that sort of life) especially if one of the party looks like he doesn't belong with the group.