Myitt nods slightly. "Understandable. So you quit." She smiles again. "You walked away from the unquittable. I guess they won't be very happy about that. In fact," she says, refilling her glass, "I'm not sure that the Empire's extremely welcoming to those who turn against them. It sounds like you've chosen exile over acceptance of an existence you were unhappy with. You know as well as I that exile in the Empire is just as good as death. Unless you're really good at being exiled. Did you ever experience any of the fermentation lagoons, on the homeworld? You know, the ones with limited soil porosity and lots of ota trees. No one ever lived there, too deadly. Somehow this place manages to have a fairly continuous supply of the distillate in a more potent form consumable by the human body. It is called redin and it's really good at helping you forget your mistakes. Want some?" She taps the unlabelled, dusty grey bottle. "Bartender, I think we need another glass. At least you can think about it, then."
The bartender shrugs and sets another grimy glass down.
She doesn't acknowledge Ossanlin's remark other than to raise her eyebrows at him, smiling. "Hey, cheers to you, too. Glad that turelek's off this rock." She sips a bit, calmly.
"Erh, yes, Ossanlin, I'm sure we can fix the ship. No problem." Corliss glances at Mar, eager to talk to anyone about anything. "Mar, how's the old war wound? You get along all right, then?"
