“My head” moaned Rackham. It had all been his fault.
“These people need to bond” he had thought. “Draw Vic and Laura out of their shells. Plus, its me and three women.” Franz of course, was still in recovery.
It had started at the Dirty Digger, An Aussie themed Bar cum Burger Joint, and there they had bumped into a group of Ore Traders, one of whom Zola had vaguely known. Hearing they were all visitors, one of these – Warren Cartwright -had insisted on ‘showing them the sights.’
Umpteen bars later, and a vague recollection of being thrown out of one of them, before finding himself staring up through a dome while lying flat out on a walkway. No one else was to be seen.
He sat up.
“Good grief I’m still there” he thought with a jolt. Curious passers by stared at his disarray.