Out from Port Martini

six days ship time.....the tramp freighter had run into pirates....hijackers in two war surplus fastboats, armed with jury-rigged velocity cannon. There was nothing for the Captain to do but power down and heave to, dead in space.....the shitbirds weren't going to get much for their trouble anyway....the cargo was nothing more than raw Class Five biobrew....stuff like you feed to yeast vats making generic fiber for the cheapest of consumables......they would probably be pissed, and might try to take out their frustration on him and his scanty crew.....they were running on mostly robotics, as usual.

But, just as the one fastboat came in close to approach the main airlock, a wanking big flare came up on the sensors.....damn if it wasn't a Treaty warship! Looked like a one of the new frigates......the hijackers tried to high-tail it.....a couple of pops from the frigate's energy weapons, and they were toast.....clouds of expanding vapor and small debris.....

On the bridge of the warship, the Commander asked the Situation Analyst where the old tramp hailed from....."From Port Martini, by her beacon frequency, Sir."

"Port Martini? That's sick...who would put port in a martini?"

Situation gave the Old Man a strange look, trying to figure if that was a real query in the line of duty, or just an off-the-record remark.....she decided it didn't really warrant a reply....