What a miserable life, Raquel Annerire thought to herself, gazing with disgusted eyes out into the bar. What made people pick places like this to discuss business? Before she had time to ponder the oddities of alien minds and mental processes, a human male accompanied by two Rodians took their seats across from her.
"So glad you could meet with us, Ms. Annerrrr... what was it?" he said, stumbling over her last name. Raquel's eyes narrowed.
"Annerire," she growled in her rather distinctive accent. "Come on, then. It's not that hard."
"Ann-err-ear-eey?" the human attempted. Raquel sighed.
"Close enough," she said. "What do you want?"
For just a few seconds, the human spoke of the job he wanted done. Then, Raquel shook her head. "I'm not doing that. Find someone else."
"Oh, come on!" the man protested. "It's not like we're asking you to kill... though you have been known to... are you listening to me?"
But Raquel was not. Her face had gone suddenly pale, her mouth open and her eyes wide as a very familiar sound rang out in the alleyway next to the bar. "40 TT," Raquel murmured. "Impossible!"
Now completely ignoring the man and his thugs, she sprang up from her seat. A glimmer of hope sprang into her eyes as she rounded the corner, but she halted abruptly at the sight of the strange blue box. "No..." At that moment, the strange man staggered out and Raquel shrank back into the shadows.
"New one's always a bit odd to start..." he muttered, seeming startled by his own voice. Raquel's expression darkened. Then, the man collapsed, seemingly unconscious. Raquel approached hesitantly, right hand tucked away under her knee-length jacket, gripping the hilt of her knife firmly, ready for anything...