Like a true defender I will not surrender
The Nose Dive sat wedged between a refueling depot and a warehouse district on the outskirts of Coronet City, its faded neon sign flickering just enough to suggest it might finally die tonight.
It never did.
The bar had been there longer than most of its patrons could remember and likely longer than the owner wanted to admit. The walls were covered in squadron patches, race pennants, old flight permits, wanted posters, and more than a few scorch marks whose origins had become increasingly exaggerated over the years.
The smell was a familiar mixture of fuel, cheap liquor, engine grease, and bad decisions. Most establishments on Corellia catered to merchants, smugglers, or shipwrights. The Nose Dive catered to pilots. Starfighter jockeys fresh off patrol. Freight haulers with a dozen systems under their belts. Corporate shuttle crews. Bush pilots from forgotten frontier worlds. Pod racers. Ex-military aces. Smugglers who claimed they weren't smugglers. If it had a cockpit and somebody foolish enough to sit inside it, sooner or later they'd end up at The Nose Dive.
There was a reason for that.
Pilots drank for half price.
Nobody remembered exactly why. Some said the owner had lost a bet to a squadron commander decades ago. Others claimed he'd once been a pilot himself and knew firsthand that flying across the galaxy was enough to drive anyone to drink. Whatever the truth, all anyone had to do was flash a valid flight license and every drink on the menu dropped fifty percent.
The result was predictable. The cantina buzzed with conversation from every corner. A pair of hotshot fighter pilots argued loudly over who had the better kill count. A grizzled freighter captain swore he once outran an Imperial customs fleet through an asteroid field. Someone near the sabacc tables was already halfway through a story that definitely got more dangerous every time it was told.
A holo-screen over the bar displayed local flight traffic and race results while a battered jukebox fought a losing battle against the noise. Behind the counter, glasses clinked, credits changed hands, and the night's first round of questionable decisions was already underway.
Just another evening at The Nose Dive.
The doors hissed open.
Alison walked in with a few of her wingmates from Ruby Squadron. Pilots in the room glanced up at the new arrivals, then quickly went back to their business. They were all dressed in their flight pants and white t-shirts, though Jessa, the tallest of the group, had opted for a dressier shirt to get the flyboys attention. That brunette never knew when to quit. She giggled and pulled Ali and the other squadron mates into the bar to scope out the talent and find out what trouble they could get into tonight.
