Somewhere near the small planet "Carmilla"

Farah, long suffering second in command of the battleship Miranda counted under his breath from the moment his captain clicked off the holoscreen and Blaze's grinning form vanished from the bridge. He reached seven before Hannibal sat down heavily in his chair, buried his face in his hands and muttered something barely audible that might have been "why me…?"

'Sir?'

Hannibal was an older man than his second, although onlookers would be off on both men's ages by a considerable margin. Hannibal could pass for a well-preserved sixty, Farah for thirty, but you could double that easily for both men.

Most would also assume they were both from Lar Metal, a planet well known for having genetically increased the lifespan of its elite ruling class. They'd be right in Farah's case, not so much in Hannibal's, although the older man was careful these days to foster that assumption.

The truth, if it ever came out, was far more complicated.

'That scruffy little ragamuffin who took Harlock's place is a bad influence on those lads,' Hannibal muttered. 'Now he's got Blaze tagging along on some hare-brained scheme to play live bait in an attempt to roll up one of Hunter's nastier operations…'

'That would be one of those operations we've been trying for some time to get an agent inside?' Farah asked, an innocent expression plastered over his handsome face. He ignored the ferocious glare his captain gave him. After all these years it was water off a duck's back. He'd missed most of the conversation due to a pressing need for a nice hot coffee. 'Which one would that be?'

'Slave trading, out near the GMC rim.'

'Ah. That one.' Farah made a show of checking his console. 'Didn't that almost lead to a major confrontation with Gamilas a few years back?'

'Why,' Hannibal asked, with the long suffering air of a man who knows he's being asked a rhetorical question, 'do you keep doing that?'

'Doing what?'

'Never mind. I'll just check your family tree sometime for a connection to a former crewman of mine… Farah, call back the replay of that call would you? Something in the background looked awfully familiar…' Once the video was stabilised, Hannibal paused it and zoomed in on the men standing in the background. The young Harlock - doing his best impersonation of a man who had better things to do with his time, but to Hannibal's experienced eyes failing miserably, since he'd watched that performance being perfected by its originator since the moment the previous captain of the Arcadia had first learned to stand upright, stood to one side of Blaze, but it was the other man who had his full attention. As tall as Harlock, and apparently about the same age (which meant little since Harlock himself was a good ten years older than he looked…). Blue skinned, golden haired, and with a face so angelically handsome anyone less experienced with the type would have never suspected the owner of having a single nefarious thought in his life.

…rather like the original captain of the Arcadia, he thought, and tried to ignore the sharp pang that created. But even if he hadn't recognised the Gamilan at Harlock's side, he'd have been wary of the young man.

'Erm… captain? Is that…?' Farah leaned over Hannibal's shoulder to look at the recording. 'Oh shit. That is a Gamilan, isn't it?'

'According to Blaze, a younger prince of the ruling house of Gamilas,' Hannibal told him. 'Harlock rescued him form a slave block on Margrave… Huh. Well, it's true enough from a certain point of view, I suppose…'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning that it might have been true a couple of years ago, but that "younger prince" is now the ruler of a sizable proportion of the Greater Magellanic Cloud.' Hannibal smiled as though at a private joke. 'I'm not quite sure whether he prefers "Chancellor" or "Emperor" but in any case, the power he can wield is the same, regardless of the title…'

'That's Dessler? What the fuck is he doing all the way out here on his own?' Farah's voice had a distressing tendency to slide up a couple of octaves when he was stressed. Hannibal winced as the last word ended on a very sharp note next to his left ear. And the uncharacteristic expletive told its own story. 'The stories I've heard paint him as a murderous psychopath… is it wise…'

'That was the father - although the old man had a little help,' Hannibal pointed out. 'And to be fair, our intel suggests this one isn't anywhere near as murderously unstable as the rest of his family…'

'So you say,' Farah muttered grudgingly. He pulled up the Thieves' extensive intelligence files. 'Huh. According to this he's still responsible for the deaths of over twenty of his brothers. And there was an extensive cull of men in high office both in government and the military when he finally took the throne…'

'It's Gamilas - they're one and the same,' Hannibal quipped. More seriously he continued: 'He mostly sat back and just let his brothers and his generals get on with killing each other. Hardly a monster.'

'Oh? Looking at your reports it looks as though they had a bit of encouragement behind the scenes,' Farah replied dryly.

'Most governments benefit from a bit of healthy competition from time to time,' Hannibal replied with a dismissive wave. 'Keeps them on their toes. That little escapade was more down to his two henchmen.'

Farah was a quick study. He ran a weather eye down the reports. 'Just as dangerous as he is, according to our sources. They're just more obvious about it.'

'Dommel and Talan.' Hannibal nodded slowly, and stroked the close-trimmed beard he currently affected. 'His fox and his hound… Dangerous, yes, but devoted. And you'll note neither of them are anywhere to be seen.'

'Tough luck for Harlock if he gets tangled up with that trio,' Farah grinned. 'I know you have a soft spot for the lad, but he does have a tendency to land right in it, doesn't he?' He sniggered. 'He really has no clue as to what he's taken on board his ship, do you think?'

Hannibal couldn't hide a smile either. 'No… but he's a smart boy. He'll figure it out.' If the display had been on a screen his finger would have tapped the blue features of the Gamilan leader. As it was, it just passed through the image. 'Benedict Adelbert Dessler IV… just what the hell are you doing all alone out here so far from home, hmm? Zworder's assassins making things too hot? If so you've managed to jump right out of the frying pan and into the fire…' he sighed. 'I need to head off any potential problems on this one. Make sure Blaze and Marin get the ships they'll need once they've located Hunter's base. I'm not at all happy with a monster like Hunter doing deals for surplus ordnance from Zworder's scrap heap. We'd better lend Harlock a hand.'

'He's got the Arcadia,' Farah muttered. How much help could he need?'

'Well I can hardly take this ship in to help him,' Hannibal retorted. 'One glance at the bloody screen and Mimay and Tochiro will be yelling in his ear.'

'I'm still not sure why you won't just introduce yourself,' Farah told him. 'Don't you even want to see the kids? You love kids. Especially family. Your trouble - ' and he jabbed a finger at his captain, 'is you've spent so long lurking in the shadows yanking everyone's strings, you've forgotten what it is to walk in the light.'

Hannibal tapped the offending digit away. 'It's complicated.'

'Hah!'

'A little less critiquing of my own failings, Farah, and a little more attention to the matter in hand. Get me a warp relay to Gamilas on a coded channel. I need to speak to Talan and Dommel. Use this code…' he tapped a password into the captain's console and a frequency and code phrase popped up on Farah's screen. The Miranda's second looked at it, and then at his captain.

'That's over a hundred years old…'

'And?'

'Why do you have an access code to Gamilas High command from before the Homecoming War?'

'Long story, Farah.' Hannibal patted his second on the shoulder and smirked. 'Long story…'

'Do you even know any other kind?'

His captain's only reply was an enigmatic smile.

New Barataria

Rather like Harlock's personal home away from home, Deathshadow Island, New Barataria was constructed from the hollowed out remains of an asteroid. Or, in this case, several such, plus assorted mothballed ships of varying sizes - mostly ancient freighters which, firmly anchored to the rocks, acted as both additional habitats, and as the jury-rigged propulsion system for moving the behemoth in normal space. Other similarities between the two habitats were, however, non-existent. Where Deathshadow Island was a comfortable and moderately luxurious home for the pirates and several of their friends, New Barataria was a cesspit of depravity and decadence - often in the same facilities. There was no real organising body to oversee the place. Its habitats were as diverse as their customers, and even the more luxurious habitats had an air of decaying sleaze attached to them, their lush decor barely concealing the rot that spread through the entire conglomeration of disparate surroundings.

There was an unwholesome atmosphere throughout the place, even allowing for recycled air. It wasn't just physical - there was a psychological stench that crept into the head of the unwary - or unfortunate - traveller. One that couldn't just be put down to the activities on offer - gambling, weapon sales, prostitution, slavery… Add in smuggling, trafficking, murder for hire and piracy and there was precious little from a catalogue of criminal activity that wasn't represented. Here the dregs of humanity could gather with impunity, and did so in large numbers.

Those habitats - natural and man-made - bristled with heavy duty ordnance. Battleships lurked in the shadow of its vast bulk - easily the size now of a small moon. The SDF could have launched an attack on the place, but it would have cost them dearly, and in these times they hadn't the ships to spare. The Alliance didn't care - it wasn't in their territory. Blaze knew that Hannibal dearly wanted to take it out, but like the SDF, had never had the manpower and he had more immediate problems to solve. Harlock couldn't touch it because whilst the Arcadia would have made short work of its defences and converted it to so much rubble, the numbers of innocents constantly trafficked through it was enough to make him back off.

And so it remained, a sprawling carbuncle orbiting a gas giant out in the far reaches of an outer spiral arm. Not a place of refuge - never that… It operated under what was ironically called "paradise law", which loosely translated was laissez-faire taken to a ridiculous, if logical, extreme. Do as thou wilt was the whole of the law - but expect to face the consequences of your actions if they impugned another man's freedoms to do likewise. The result was a lawless free-for-all where a man could be shot in the back simply for jostling another in a crowd, if the "victim" felt like taking umbrage.

Anyone spouting the age-old folly about an armed society being a polite society had obviously never spent any time on New Barataria…

Three men walked down the thoroughfare of one of the largest asteroids - this one a shell surrounding a massive cavern, lit by once powerful but flickering lights a hundred feet above ground level, giving it the air of a perpetual twilight. To either side of the dusty track various buildings had been constructed, the overall air one of some desperately poor sector of a downtown metropolis, offering cheap food, cheap sex and cheap booze, often all in the same establishment, many of which also offered other ways to divest the unwary of whatever coin they had to spend.

Any one of the three men would have turned heads - they each comported themselves with the air of men who were experts with the weapons slung at their hip in leather holsters, and their body language had the quiet confidence that even the lesser intellects on New Barataria understood as a massive "danger - do not approach" sign above their heads. But the fact that one of them was blue-skinned drew far more attention than they might otherwise have drawn.

'Couldn't we have got to work with some concealer?' Blaze muttered to his friend as they sauntered along the street. 'He sticks out like a sore thumb…'

'We want to be noticed,' Harlock pointed out in a reasonable tone. 'Remember?'

'There's "noticed",' Blaze drawled darkly, 'and there's "noticed"...'

'I'll be fine,' Ben told them, smirking. He tugged on the blue sleeve of Harlock's ostentatiously new flightsuit. 'I'll just hide behind the captain here if anyone starts shooting - I'll blend right in.' He glanced over to Blaze and sighed theatrically. 'Grey and yellow, however…' he tutted. 'I'd shoot my tailor if I were you.' If he hoped to get a reaction from the other man, he was sorely disappointed: Blaze refused to be drawn into so much as a twitch of an eyebrow, but then, he was at that precise moment giving his friend a little shove out of the way of a randomly thrown rock that missed his right ear by a couple of inches as a result. The man who'd thrown it was apparently engaged in a "frank exchange with views" with a couple of his fellows, and as the trio sauntered past the brawl continued behind them. Briefly. It ended in a gurgling scream that didn't last very long.

'Lung,' Ben remarked casually as they walked.

'Throat,' Blaze corrected smugly. Ben couldn't resist the urge to look back over his shoulder.

'Oh, I stand corrected.' There was another short, bubbling cry. 'That was a lung…'

'If the pair of you start taking bets,' Harlock told them, 'I'll disown both of you. Can we stay on mission here?'

'Since we're strolling in plain sight down the main thoroughfare of this sinkhole of depravity I thought we were?' Ben opined. 'But if you want to be recognised why aren't you wearing…' he made a gesture encompassing the pirate's lanky form.

'First rule of the live bait caper,' Blaze answered for Harlock, 'is never bring anything with you you can't bear to lose.'

'Is that why he brought us and not the delightful Kei?' Ben's voice almost oozed innocence.

'Kei,' Harlock informed him, 'Will be guarding our backs from the Arcadia. If you're referring to my gravity cloak, it's a one of a kind and its former owner might want it back one day.'

'Ditto the weapons?' Blaze asked. He tapped the pistol holstered on his friend's right hip. 'I had wondered why you were sporting one of the general issue models…'

'You don't follow the same rule?' Ben asked him.

Blaze shrugged. 'I don't tend to have an attachment to my kit. It's a slippery slope. Starts with your favourite boots and ends in you giving your gun a girl's name…'

Harlock choked back a snorting noise that might have been a snigger. 'You're never letting Marin forget that, are you?'

Blaze smirked. 'Oh hell, no! Big bro is never living that one down… Teasing one's elder sibling is one of life's little perks!' When the other two men both flinched slightly, almost in unison, he winced. 'Sorry.'

'Never apologise for having a good relationship with a sibling,' Ben told him. 'I'd have settled for non-murderous, personally.'

'At least from what little you've told me this far, you didn't do much to deserve your brothers' murderous intentions,' Harlock told him.

'Not unless breathing counts,' Ben replied blithely, although the bleak expression on his face made a lie of his self-mocking tone.

'You didn't deserve Isora's petty spite either,' Blaze said quietly to his friend. 'A decent man would have forgiven you.'

'I never forgave myself,' Harlock replied equally quietly. 'So what does that make me?'

'A self flagellating worrywort,' Blaze told him. 'Which makes you human, and I'd only be worried if you started shrugging that shit off.'

Harlock, whose shoulder blades were twitching in anticipation of an unsolicited blaster bolt/knife/any ranged weapon of choice/delete as appropriate aimed at the spot between them, concentrated on their route rather than ad lib a snarky quip. 'The bar we're looking for should be along here… Ah!'

There had been a name above the battered doors at one point, but it had long since faded into illegibility, and someone had spray painted a crude image of the male genitalia where the sign had once been.

'The Cock and Balls?' Ben opined. 'How original…' he drawled sarcastically. 'That must bring tourists here in their droves…'

'Don't be such a snob.' Harlock gave him a little push to get him moving again. 'I'll start to think you're one of those prancing posers who prefer the kind of place where they name the specific variety of lettuce in the salads on a spiffy little electronic menu…' He didn't give the Gamilan a chance to confirm or deny the slur. 'A pirate, a prince and a thief walk into a cliché…' Harlock quipped as the doors swooshed with an audible squeal of tortured, badly maintained hydraulics into the wall.

'Who are you calling a thief?' Blaze mock growled at him under his breath.

'Two princes and a pirate ruins the joke,' Harlock pointed out.

'And you're actually a count,' Blaze replied.

Ben sniggered. 'I'm so glad you pronounced that correctly…' He smiled beatifically at Harlock's scowl. 'Yes, we have good intel on your family,' he replied to the unasked question. 'Although I suppose it's up in the air as to whether or not you can retain a title to a plot of land that no longer exists…'

'I think it's a moot point,' Harlock told him. 'As a traitor Harlock was stripped of all holdings, assets and titles, and the law rendered him and his heirs outlawed and subject to summary execution for his crimes.'

'Sippenhaft…' Blaze murmured. At Harlock's quizzical gaze he shrugged. 'Hannibal's a mine of information.'

'Anyway,' Harlock continued blithely, 'My grandfather brought the family back to Mars long after the war, and under a different name.' He stepped over a pool of an indeterminate liquid on the floor. 'Oh, I'd forgotten just how bad these places can be,' he murmured as they walked towards the bar.

'There there,' Blaze patted him on the back. 'I'll wash your slice of lemon off for you before they put it in your drink.'

'I'd disinfect the little umbrella as well,' Ben added with a grin. 'Oh - Zworder's sweaty balls - what is that smell?'

'Your problem,' Blaze opined as he deftly dodged a gob of spit aimed at a nearby spittoon, 'is that you're a pair of entitled little rich kids. You're spoiled.'

'Hah!' Harlock jabbed a finger at Blaze, and waved it under his nose. 'Remind me again who your mother is?'

'Disowned,' Blaze replied dryly. 'I didn't grow up in a fancy apartment in the Martian capital…'

'But you are a part of the Lar Metal Royal Family?' Ben asked as they reached the bar.

'Technically. Although the Royal House of Andromeda didn't allow their queens to have male children. Marin and I would have been summarily executed if we'd been found by the Holy Queen or her minions back in the day. Nowadays her successor - our beloved Auntie - wants us dead for rebelling against her. So no real change there really.'

Harlock got the bartender's attention by means of the time-honoured tradition of simply raising his voice and shouting "master!" at the portly figure waddling up and down behind the counter. Three large whiskies that looked and smelled more like agricultural fuel in front of them, he passed around two and lifted his own glass. 'To the joys of dysfunctional families!'

They all drained their tumblers in one swallow, with the air of men who knew this from long experience to be the safest option. 'The trick to looking really macho,' Blaze stage whispered to Ben, who was slowly turning a lighter shade of grey, unless it was the lighting, 'is the art of non-regurgitation…'

Ben slapped his glass down on the sticky countertop. 'Goddess of Iskander… that has to be the foulest substance I've ever tasted.'

'Not even close,' Harlock told him. He gestured for a refill. 'Andromedan Red Bourbon. Or Saidan wine. Both have a kick like a plough horse, are about seventy percent proof and could strip grease off a cannon turret.' He clinked his glass with Blaze's.

'Rumour has it they could even eat holes in the Arcadia's hull,' Blaze added. 'If you could come up with a delivery method…'

'Hearsay,' Harlock replied blithely. 'Do you really think no-one's heaved up on my hangar deck after a three day bender?'

'Proves nothing,' Blaze said. 'Except maybe that the stuff's neutralised by stomach acid, which would explain how anyone can consume it safely…'

Ben gazed into his tumbler, convinced he could see the droplets making their way down to the bottom etching trails in the sides. 'Define "safely"... I think this would take out my food taster…'

Blaze slapped him between the shoulder blades. 'On the plus side, anyone who can survive this could easily handle a little poison…'

Ben knocked back his refill with the air of a man determined not to be outdone by his friends, and pulled a face. 'If you don't mind, I'd rather not put that to the test. The court has been known to get a little… "creative"...' He placed his glass on the sticky counter and shuddered theatrically. 'I swear that really does taste as bad as it smells…' He grimaced as he ran his tongue over his teeth. 'And I think my tongue's going numb… either that, or my teeth are dissolving…'

'There's a Reisling in my wine store that rumour has it has the same effect,' Harlock told him with a smirk. 'I think it was a home-brew that didn't travel very well even when it was bottled, and a century of being tossed around on a battleship apparently hasn't done it any favours.' He placed a handful of credits on the counter, and smirked when the barkeep struggled to sweep them off casually and failed. 'Damn… maybe I should take a bottle back for Yattaran - he's always whining about the quality of modern glues…' His cheery smirk was not missed by the bartender, who managed to finally pick the coins off the tacky counter and glared at him as he attempted to rub them clean on an apron that looked as though a washing machine was a distant and forlorn memory, lost in the mists of time. The man scowled at him, muttered something decidedly uncharitable under his breath, and walked away.

'One thing I love about you,' Blaze told his friend, with a totally straight face, 'is your amazing ability to win friends wherever we go…'

'It's a gift,' Harlock replied sagely. He took his time surveying the room from under his unruly hair. 'I don't think we'll have any trouble finding trouble… the trick will be to pick the right fight…' he paused in his surreptitious assessment very slightly. Oh. Shit.' He turned his attention back to the bar's counter and very slowly leaned towards Blaze. 'Don't look now, but I think trouble's about to find us sooner than we'd like…' he downed the last of the sour whiskey in his glass. 'Coming in through the doors…'

Ben, less cautious by far, turned his gaze in the direction indicated, to see a short, pretty platinum blonde in a tight pink mini dress that left very little to the imagination at either end, being manhandled by a creature that bore more resemblance to a hairy ape than it did to homo sapiens. Despite her spitting, wriggling cursing, she wasn't getting far in her struggles with one arm wrenched painfully up behind her back. Her left eye already sported a fresh bruise, as did her right cheek.

Harlock grabbed Ben's shoulder before his arse had finished clearing the seat, and pushed him back down. 'Don't start playing Prince Valiant for that one,' he whispered. 'She's more trouble than we need right now.'

'That little cow can look after herself ' Blaze added grimly. 'Don't give me that look, Ben. She's a bounty hunter, and one of the best - or worst, depending which side of the law you're on. And she's no fragile little waif either. She's Lar Metallian and was making a name for herself when my mom was on the Holy Queen's Most Wanted list.'

'Wonder what angle she's working?' Harlock mused.

'I neither know nor care,' Blaze growled. 'She almost got my mother some years ago, and made a play for Marin a few months back - led him around by the cock and would have hauled him off to Andromeda if Hannibal hadn't hauled his nuts out of the fire, so to speak. I still owe the little cow for that one… if she's in over her head, I'm tempted to leave her to drown.'

The girl was struggling against the iron grip the brute now had around her throat, and he'd pushed her tiny skirt up to her waist, laughing like a braying, snorting donkey as he did so, but no-one seemed interested in helping, although one or two of the patrons were cheering him on. Ben glanced at his companions. 'Aren't we supposed to be the good guys?'

'We were supposed to pick a fight,' Harlock prompted Blaze.

'The right fight…' Blaze sighed. 'If this is some scheme she's got, she won't thank us.' He stood up. 'Watch for her nails. They're implants, sharp and she often tips them with something nasty.'

Ben allowed the other two men to take point, content to keep an eye out for additional trouble, as well as to get a feel for how they rolled in a fight. Blaze, he noted, kept strictly on Harlock's blind side, as though it was second nature. But since he'd only be in the way if they all tried to tackle the anthropoid monstrosity, he stayed on his stool, sipping gingerly at his drink.

Harlock, predictably, went in first, and tapped the snickering wretch on the shoulder. 'That's no way to treat a lady,' he reproved.

'Mind your own business, pretty boy. You can have your turn. And this…' he slobbered onto the girl's bare neck, ignoring her gasped expletives and visible disgust, 'is no lady.'

''-ck you' she managed to get out, and spat at her captor. He placed a meaty paw over her mouth and she promptly bit it. Hard. He howled, made the mistake of jerking his hand away and had to let her go to clutch his bleeding thumb. She spat part of the fleshy part of the base of it onto the floor. ''You fuckin' bitch!' he howled.

The swinging slap he'd have landed on her would have probably broken her neck if Harlock hadn't stepped in and redirected it. Overcommitted, the ape was off balance and easy for Harlock to duck under the flailing arm, and land a solid punch in the gut. As he folded over the girl landed a kick to his family jewels, leaving the creature gasping and clutching his groin - and flailing backwards to crash into the nearest table, sending the drinks on it flying mostly to land in the laps of the four very large, very dangerous looking individuals clustered around it and knocking one of them off his seat into the bargain.

Four very, very annoyed pairs of eyes glared at the pirate, Blaze and the dainty little bounty hunter.

'Ooops.' The girl didn't sound too contrite, however, and scuffed the floor with the toe of one tiny boot, hands clasped behind her back, like a schoolgirl caught talking in line outside a class. The four offended thugs - and the still gasping ape who'd started the whole thing - all got to their feet.

Knuckles were cracked.

Blaze looked quizzically at Harlock, who shrugged, and rolled his shoulders.

Ben took another sip of his drink, ostensibly nonchalant, but carefully watching the crowd, most of whom seemed content to let the injured parties sort it out - although he noted one in a corner was talking softly into a comm unit.

'We could just pay for the drinks,' Blaze suggested.

'I think we may be way past that point,' Harlock replied as one thug grabbed a bottle from the table and smashed it on the edge, hefting it with a gap-toothed sneer as he waved it in their direction. Knives and knuckledusters were also making an appearance. 'But - we might just get the fight we were after…'

'Big, aren't they?' Blaze muttered as the offended party closed on them. The two men squared off back to back. 'Silviana - do feel free to help out, since you're the one who decided to play skittles with these men's drinks…'

The girl toyed with her nails and sighed theatrically. 'Oh… I think the prettier one of the Warriors Zero and the luscious Captain Harlock have got this one…'

The closest hulk lunged at her, knife in hand, and she squeaked and tried to duck behind Blaze, ending up hiding behind his right shoulder.

'Really?' he growled at her over his shoulder.

She shrugged and stayed put. 'You can't expect a lady to fight off nasty, mean men…'

'I wouldn't,' he replied bluntly. He ignored the thump from her small fist on the back of his right arm. Which was the lightest tap he received during the next few minutes as they fended off the first attack.

Ben ducked as one body went flying over the bar thanks to a well timed hip check from Harlock. 'Nice tackle!' he called out.

'Thanks,' Harlock puffed out between punches. 'Perhaps instead of commentating, you could get off your well-upholstered princely blue backside and lend a hand here?

'A good commander waits to deploy the bulk of his forces until he's assessed the battlefield…' he declaimed loftily over the clamour.

'And a man who wants a free ride back to a very distant galaxy will get his arse of his barstool and help his captain,' Harlock bellowed at him as he ducked the bottle thrust into his face and neatly disarmed the wielder by means of charging him and then smashing his elbow into a wall. He leaned briefly on the bar next to Ben. 'Whenever you're ready…' he added sarcastically, breathing heavily.

'Aren't the odds getting a little long?' Ben ducked a flying bottle which smashed onto the bar behind him. 'Oh well that's just rude…' There were at least three fights going on simultaneously in the room - although the boundaries appeared to be somewhat fluid. In fact, apart from the fact that Blaze and the little bounty hunter were still the centre of attention in one corner, it was hard to see where one grudge ended and another started. Ben brushed the sleeve of his shirt, sighed at the stain spreading on the silk fabric, and stood up. 'Got your second wind yet?' he asked Harlock. Who just gave him a push in the small of the back and followed him into the fray.