<div class="floatright">(http://i68.tinypic.com/2h5r9ja.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Katarina Serkova</strong></span>(https://docs.google.com/document/d/1wVXRhquFygpkGwtmLQhPvpwLT0_cpOaUCTlTt9vItM4/edit)<br/><br/>It was that self-same atmosphere that had led Xanatov's 'target' to this place.  It was noisy, it was crowded, and no one would take notice of a spacer down on her luck.  At least that had been her hope when she'd arrived.  But as she'd expected, everyone who was anyone in space could almost<em>feel</em>the bad luck flowing from her.  She was Shiplorn, and other Spacers could simply feel it from being around her.<br/><br/>So there was a bubble, a quarter circle of tables around her seat in the corner, that were empty, others crowding into tables further away to not be near the jinx.  But truth be told, she was happier that way.  She wasn't ready to deal with anyone right now.  Too many people had died on that last run, and she should have been one of them.  She still couldn't figure out why she hadn't been among the dead.  And she was trying to come to grips with the fact that she hadn't died, that she had to carry on.<br/><br/>The commotion at the door had her chin coming up, her hand sliding under the table to release the catch on the thigh holster of her bolter, but the trouble was quickly dealt with, and she sighed, downing the last of her glass, lifting a hand and tapping the glass with one finger as a barmaid scurried past.  It was her fifth, but her account - with the hardship and danger pay she'd gotten once she'd convinced the higher ups she hadn't been to blame for the ship being lost - was more than capable of handling it.