“Commander Furieux?” inquired Dillon Reade, turning towards a booth near the back wall of the Star & Garter. “Please follow me.”
“Reade? How did you recognize me?” Furieux asked, following a path weaved before through the masses. The journey to Bedaho had been short, and the smuggler had only just docked at Salam Enterprise moments before. He had hoped to have had a drink or two before the meeting but Reade had approached him nearly as soon he had entered the bar.
“I know a merc when I see one,” Reade said without looking back. “And you might just as well have had the word Blackfeather tattooed on your forehead, you look so much like her. It wasn’t too difficult to deduce. Come.”
The bar was busy...